


Someone to sit in my chair, and ruin my sleep

by pengukat



Series: where do we go from here [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Endgame: Villaneve, Eve is bisexual, F/F, Fried Chicken, Knives, Post Series 1, Toxic Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, Villaneve, Violence, and happier than how it started, did i mention this is really unhealthy, dubcon, i mean i promise to try to make it healthier, it ends up healthier than how it started hows that, it'll get healthier I promise, tags to be updated with progression sorry if I do this wrong, this is not an example of a healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengukat/pseuds/pengukat
Summary: In which Eve tries to make a life for herself after the events in Paris. Villanelle does too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to make sure this work is tagged appropriately. Some of the tags are for specific chapters (and a minority of them) only. I'll try to make sure that each chapter has an appropriate warning if it applies to the chapters.
> 
> This is meant to have a happy ending sooooooooooooo
> 
> Thank you for reading.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Paris, life became Before-Villanelle and After-Villanelle.
> 
> Before-Villanelle, every single decision Eve had made leading up to Villanelle had been utter shit. So, After-Villanelle, Eve endeavoured to make things right.
> 
> It turns out when you burn bridges and explicitly piss people off, though, they don't like to have much to do with you anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally was intended as a follow-up/elaboration of the events of "Niko was a good man", but as things progressed things maay have taken a slight detour. 
> 
> It's now best to view "Niko" as a mainly direct inspiration for the events of this fic, with some insight into Eve's motivations.

After Paris, life became Before-Villanelle and After-Villanelle.

Before-Villanelle, every single decision Eve had made leading up to Villanelle had been utter shit. Eve's one overwhelming takeaway, after all was said and done in Villanelle's apartment, one that she would return to time and time again in the future months, was: "Well. That could have gone better." 

So, After-Villanelle, Eve endeavoured to make things right.

It turns out when you burn bridges and explicitly piss people off, though, they don't like to have much to do with you anymore.

Niko was waiting patiently for her with packed bags and divorce papers when Eve got home. She had taken one look at his haggard face, and wordlessly signed them. There was no way she could put this good man through what she had willingly dragged them both into any longer. She let him have the house, though. It wouldn't be right to make him leave, when he had done no wrong, even if he didn't want to stay. She didn't care what he did with the place. She couldn't stay there any longer either. 

No one from work was returning her phone calls. The MI6 office was shuttered up, gone without a trace, when she stopped by in person. None of the neighbours knew anything about it. Eve wondered if it ever had been officially an unofficial department, or if she'd been paid directly out of Carolyn Martens' pocket - or worse still, if she'd been indirectly or directly working for the Twelve. Before-Villanelle Eve would have thrown all her active and spare brainpower into teasing out the riddle. After-Villanelle Eve felt drained and dispirited. These weren't just fascinating, tangled webs to unravel anymore. At the end of the unraveled rope lay violence and death. 

None of her friends were picking up, either. Not that she had many friends to begin with. It had been Bill, at work, and Keiko, through him - who wasn't in any mood to be social, for understandable reasons. It seemed that she'd quit her job and taken her child to Japan. Made sense to be away from all this for a while. Then there was Elena, also from work, who maybe had heard some of the story from Carolyn, and maybe had decided that no matter how fun and wacky Eve the Tiresome Thinkbucket might be to be around, that it wasn't worth potentially putting herself in danger. Kenny wasn't really a friend, but he was also Carolyn's son, and his silence was understandable.

And then it was all Niko's friends, who, after the divorce, were Niko's friends only. Those was the rules of divorce - the wronged party gets to keep all the friends.

So now, with no friends, no place to stay, and no job, Eve had to start anew. She'd lost her security clearance, so government jobs were no longer an option for her now. She had effectively been cut off by her former employer - whose true motivations and allegiances Eve still had no idea about - and the less the After-Villanelle Eve thought about it the better. It was a miracle she was still allowed to live and roam the streets freely. She was amazed she'd managed to make it back into the UK legally and hassle-free in the first place - even the Twelve saw no need to interfere with the work of the good good people at the UK Border Control.

More interestingly, or terrifyingly, it seemed that no one really seemed to care if Eve lived or died, or what she did from this point on. In the grand scheme of things, it turned out Eve didn't matter at all.

===

And so, with nothing left for her in Ealing, she packed her bags and moved to Birmingham.

There had to be someone hiring ex-MI5, potentially-fake-MI6 agents with a degree in criminology psychology with expert knifing skills, right? It turned out there was no shortage of administrative assistant jobs that required few qualifications and asked few questions. 

Eve's new job was to provide "efficient clerical support service" to a consulting firm that specialised in "managing operations, consulting and digital solutions" for "organisations in highly regulated markets." She had little to no idea what that meant, but they paid enough, and their offices were carpeted and air-conditioned, and their toilets had copious amounts of toilet paper - already a step up from her last place of employment. She found a small, cheap apartment near a train station that got her to work in thirty minutes. It was perhaps not in the safest part of town, but Eve had stabbed someone. She could take down anyone if it came to it. 

Her daily life shrunk to a predictable pattern - wake up, go to work, eat lunch alone, go home, buy takeout, watch TV mindlessly, go to sleep. Niko had done all the cooking, and Eve tried her hand a couple of times to busy herself with online recipes, with demoralising results. Occasionally she would check the news, just long enough to see if there had been any major unexplained deaths, but not long enough for her brain to make any useful connections. In the beginning, she checked social media accounts and old community websites to see how Niko was doing, but as time went on, and he seemed fine, she stopped. It didn't seem like he needed her anymore, which suited Eve just fine. 

Her body started to memorise her daily route to work, her feet carrying her to her destinations without her even needing to look up or pay attention. She got to recognise a few regulars on the daily commute, and they would silently acknowledge each other in the way that complete strangers do to familiar faces. She got to know her coworkers, just enough to be polite, not enough to socialise after work, and besides, everyone had families and lives to go home to, and middle-aged women like her - who may or may not be single, probably had a husband, maybe divorced? - didn't get invited to drinks at the pub after work. This also suited Eve fine, because getting close to people meant having to open up, and opening up meant divulging more about herself than she was ready to.

She considered getting a cat. 

Just as Eve was fully immersed in the steady, humdrum beat of her life, she came home one day, walked into her kitchen, turned around, and found Villanelle behind her.

A deadly, violent, vengeful Villanelle. 

And Eve was not prepared for how far they both had to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been updated since its original posting with a few sentences at the very end to clarify the negative direction the next chapter takes.
> 
> In case it wasn't explicit: stuff gets dark next chapter. Please take care of yourself and proceed accordingly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Villanelle is not interested in talking, or dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: forced sexual contact. There's also a knife involved. And some physical violence.

For the past half year, Eve's brain, which had stopped working, and Eve's heart, which had stopped beating, suddenly jolted back to life. 

Villanelle. Behind her. Now. Alive.

Was Eve in danger? There was a knife in Villanelle's hand - not pointed at Eve, just dangling by Villanelle's thigh, so, no immediate danger, but imminent danger, now that was hard to say -

Where had she hidden? Behind the door. Waiting, listening for Eve's key in the lock, for Eve to enter, ambush her from behind -

How did she get in? The door hadn't been forced, Eve had unlocked it normally, maybe the back window, Eve would have to check on that -

No, before that -

"You're alive," Eve blurted out. She stumbled backwards, bumping into things as she went. There wasn't much room to maneuver in her tiny kitchen, but she managed to put the small table in the centre of the kitchen between them.

Villanelle made a face between a smirk and a grimace, as if disappointed that Eve had pointed out the obvious. She moved towards the table, towards Eve, who circled away pathetically in the opposite direction. They engaged in an awkward back-and-forth shuffle like they were in a primal mating ritual, but Villanelle was faster.

"Um, uh, wait, wait," Eve panicked, holding her hands up, accidentally brandishing her takeout bags in front of her. "Please, Oksana, give me a minute, I just want to -"

"Vil-lan-nelle." The woman said her name, staccato-like, punctuating every syllable, coming closer. "My name is Villanelle. And I am not interested in talking. Or dinner." She slapped away the contents of Eve's hands and they flew across the room. Eve would have to clean that shit up later.

"Please, Villanelle, please," Eve gasped, as Villanelle's hand grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the fridge. She choked and yelped as Villanelle half-pushed, half-pulled her downwards; she could do nothing but fall to her knees. 

"Undo my pants," Villanelle growled, her eyes boring holes into Eve. The knife she had been holding was now positioned beside Eve's ear. 

The increasing pressure on Eve's neck drove away any questions she had, and any alternate actions she could reasonably pursue. Fumbling, unable to see properly with Villanelle's hand blocking her view, she felt her way to the front of Villanelle's waist and managed to pop the button and pull the zipper of Villanelle's jeans down. 

"Um, do you, do you want me to take them off," Eve croaked, eyes wide, looking for Villanelle's reaction as best as she could. 

Villanelle gave a terse nod. Eve tugged down her jeans and underwear as far as she could go.

Villanelle widened her stance, released Eve's neck and replaced it with a fistful of hair. She straddled Eve's face. "You know what to do."

Eve actually had no idea what to do, but it wasn't like there was much choice. Without preamble, she dove her face in between Villanelle's legs and licked and sucked at Villanelle's folds as enthusiastically and pleasingly as she could. 

"God, you're terrible at this," Villanelle groaned,  

"Ugh, guh, um, how would you prefer me to, uh," Eve said, muffled against Villanelle's crotch.

Villanelle tugged Eve's hair, hard, and held her in place. "Just hold your tongue out, hold your mouth open - yeah, like that -" Villanelle began thrusting her hips roughly and unevenly against Eve's mouth, who remained in position, gasping in breaths of air when she could, wondering vaguely that if she moved the wrong way whether her ear might be lopped off.

It was quick, after that - a few more thrusts, and Villanelle's whole body went still and silent, just the part of her pressed against Eve shuddering lightly, before she went slack. The grip on Eve's hair loosened.

"Do up my pants." Villanelle's breath was slightly shaky.

"Uh, would you like me to, um, clean you up a bit, it's very, uh, wet around, uh, you know," Eve gestured, made a circle with her hand around the general area between Villanelle's legs.

Villanelle stared inscrutably at Eve before responding. "No. Just pull them up."

Eve did as she was told, fingers shaking and fumbling. As she finished, she found she couldn't meet Villanelle's eyes. "So, uh, is this the part where you kill me?" she whispered.

After a few silent, tense, seconds, Eve finally dared to look up. Villanelle was still sporting the same, inscrutable look.

Maybe, maybe, Eve thought, maybe Eve still had a chance, maybe there was still a chance, maybe Eve could -

Villanelle grabbed Eve by the throat, dragged Eve to her feet, punched her in the stomach, and let her fall to the floor.

Eve doubled-over, gasping for breath, all the wind knocked out of her. She threw up. 

When she finally regained her senses, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she found herself alone in the apartment. Villanelle had gone.

And Eve was still alive. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve decides to track Villanelle down.

Lying on her back staring at the ceiling of her apartment, Eve took a moment to take stock. 

There was vomit and Chinese takeout all over her kitchen floor. 

Villanelle was alive. 

She tried to remember if a punch to the stomach could be life-threatening. 

She should probably clean her apartment up. And wash the vomit out of her hair.

Villanelle was alive. 

Eve could still smell and taste Villanelle on her lips. 

She should probably call an ambulance.

Villanelle was alive, alive, alive. 

===

At the hospital, they scanned for any internal bleeding or internal injuries, and all the tests showed nothing was wrong. Just a couple of days rest, if she needed it, and Eve would be right as rain. She was free to go home. 

The police came and asked her a few questions. Did you see your assailant's face? It was a woman? Can you describe her? How did she get in? Did you leave your door unlocked? Was anything taken? Did she do anything to you?

Eve answered some questions truthfully and the others carefully, uncertain if her answers would change anything or simply paint a giant target on her back. Yes, I saw her face. She had long, honey-coloured hair, high cheekbones, cat-like eyes. I think she got in through the back door, must have jimmied the lock. No, she didn't take anything. Yes, she punched me in the stomach and ruined my dinner. 

Could you keep me informed of any sightings of her, or any hints of her location? Eve had asked. 

Thank you for your time, the officer had responded, we have your contact information, we'll be in touch if we need anything.

Eve kept the forced oral sex to herself. She knew what it was. She understood what Villanelle had intended. And yet. And yet.

Villanelle was alive.

And after Paris, after six months of silence and lethargy and merely existing, so was Eve, again, finally. Her heart pounding, her brain working, again, again, again. 

This was something private. Between Eve and Villanelle. For them and them alone. Eve fully intended to unravel what it meant. 

===

Next day, Eve called out sick at work. Her colleagues were sympathetic and appropriately horrified and suitably distant. They understood if Eve needed a few more days; Eve should take all the time she needed. No one offered to come by, which was fine.

Honestly, Eve felt she'd rather be anywhere but her own apartment. The drying food containers and crust on her kitchen floor that she had left overnight had solidified into a stinking mess. She cleaned it up as best as she could. 

First things first. Eve called up every single number she still had for old colleagues, but all her calls went unanswered. Texts left for Carolyn, Kenny, Elena ... nothing. She wasn't even sure if they'd changed numbers without telling her. She sent an email with the subject "OKSANA ASTONKOVA AKA VILLANELLE AKA ASSASSIN IS IN THE UK" and only got bounce errors. In a huff, she called the MI6 anonymous tip hotline and left a message saying that a suspected Russian assassin working for a secretive global organisation known as the Twelve had infiltrated the country and assaulted her. She knew it sounded insane and that the message was more likely to get dismissed than followed up on, but she had to try. 

Pulling out her laptop, she checked all local news reports, then national, and then international news, for anything that stood out, anything that indicated why Villanelle might be in the country. She checked everything she could think of.

Nothing. There was no hint. There was no pattern. 

Eve swore. 

Her stomach rumbled.

Eve remembered that she hadn't eaten dinner the night before, and that all she'd had this morning had been a cup of tea. The clock indicated that it was well past lunch time. It was time for a break.  

There were a couple of food places within a few blocks walking distance, so Eve donned a jacket and went outside. The sun was high, and there was a brisk breeze. It always felt different to be out and about on a work day. Eve couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a day off. The fresh air was doing her good.

Eve turned the corner. The smell of fried chicken wafted down the street. There were no other customers at this late hour. She walked up to the takeout counter.

"Sam's fried chicken, how can I help you?" said the pleasantly-smiling lady behind the counter in a pitch-perfect Brummie accent.

Eve's jaw dropped. "Motherfu--"

"We have plain fried chicken, spicy fried chicken, and extra spicy fried chicken," said Villanelle cheerfully. "For an extra pound fifty you can add on fries and a drink!"  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve and Villanelle go for a spin in the back of a car.

Eve stood there sputtering for what felt like forever.

"If you're not going to order," the smiling counter lady said, "please step away from the counter. You're holding up the line."

"THERE IS NO LINE," Eve exploded. "IT'S 3PM. EVERYONE'S HAD LUNCH ALREADY."

A few heads in the kitchen looked over curiously. Villanelle looked over, mouthing, I've got it under control!, then turned back to Eve, all the while maintaining that shit-eating grin on her face. 

"So the spicy chicken, then?"

Eve screamed and launched herself at the fried chicken window. 

===

They called the police on her. 

"I'm really, really so sorry, Officer, I don't know what came over me," Eve rambled profusely. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Villanelle giving her statement to the police. Villanelle saw Eve looking, and winked. That sent Eve's temperature through the roof. "But in my defense last night I was attacked, in my home, assaulted by a complete stranger! I spoke to your colleagues yesterday about this, I don't know if you've seen the report at all, in fact, my attacker looked just like the woman over there behind the counter, yeah, right there, you see, over your shoulder -" 

The officer Eve was speaking to looked over his shoulder disinterestedly and jotted down some notes.

"Did you hear what I said? I said the person that attacked me looked just like her -"

"Is it her, then?" the officer said.

"Well, I - I," Eve stuttered, uncertainly. Her mind raced. 

Villanelle looked over with a bored expression her face.

That did it.

"Yes, officer. Yes, I do believe it was her," Eve declared triumphantly. 

Villanelle raised a single, impeccable eyebrow.

Then she smiled, showing teeth, suddenly shark-like. Eve instantly regretted her decision. 

"Okay then, ladies, I think I'll have both of you come down to the precinct with us -"

===

It was a quiet, awkward, bumpy ride to the police station. Eve would never have imagined the day she'd be in the back of a police vehicle, and that she would be sharing it with Villanelle, no less. 

Eve found it hard to look at the other woman. She wasn't wearing her usual fragrance, so it was easy to pretend that Villanelle wasn't there if she looked away, except for the sound of the other woman's shallow, quick breathing.  

Eve sat as far away from Villanelle as possible. Villanelle, for her part, seemed surprisingly inclined to do the same thing. 

They were separated once they got to the police station. Eve endured another couple hours of questioning, answering questions she had already answered. She got impatient, annoyed, bored, tired, and resigned by the time she was done.

When they finally let her go, Eve saw Villanelle lingering at the exit, still wearing a stained white apron over her Sam's Fried Chicken T-shirt. She looked completely incongruous and yet totally ordinary.

"Wait, you're letting her go?" Eve exclaimed.

"The woman has an alibi and someone to vouch for her whereabouts at the time of your attack," responded an officer stiffly. "We all understand that you are under a lot of stress right now and we are sympathetic to your ... situation."

Villanelle pressed her hand to her chest in an expression of sympathy, and pouted sadly. Eve wanted to bite that lip right off her mouth. 

"As for the fried chicken incident," the officer continued, "the store has agreed not to press any charges, so you're free to go as well. You might want to take some time off. Get some rest."

"Wait, how about - how about that police report I filed yesterday?" Eve said frantically. "My assault? Has there been any update on that at all?" 

The officer turned to her. "Thank you for your time. We have your contact information, we'll be in touch if we need anything."

And with that, Eve and Villanelle were left alone at the door of a police station.

===

Every hair on Eve's neck was on edge. 

Right now, she knew, she was safe. 

The moment she stepped foot outside, all bets were off. 

"Come on, Eve," Villanelle said. "I've been waiting for you. Let's go."

"Waiting for me - waiting for me?" Eve cried. "You're 'waiting for me' after I 'tried to steal your fried chicken without paying for it'? Are you sure that's a good idea? Why are they letting you leave with me? Doesn't anyone here think it's a TERRIBLE IDEA?" Her voice rose at the end of her sentence. She looked around frantically. No one was paying her any attention. Maybe the police were used to loud boorish outbursts from their citizens.

Here, too, it seemed, Eve was insignificant. 

"It won't get you anywhere," Villanelle said behind her. 

Eve whipped around. "What won't?"

Villanelle shrugged. "No matter how many times you try to send the police my way. It's a wasted effort."

"I wasn't trying to - I didn't mean to involve -" Eve huffed, and threw her hands in the air. "What the fuck is going on here? What are you DOING here? What is even happening?" 

Villanelle took a step towards her, and Eve froze. Involuntarily, she stepped back. 

Looking satisfied, Villanelle leaned back, and turned on her heel. 

"Come on, walk with me," Villanelle said. She headed for the door without looking back.

Eve was rooted to the ground. The sane part of her brain blared a warning. Stay here! Police station! Other people! Safe! Arrest powers! Handcuffs!

Every other part of her - keening, wailing - her heart, her heart, hammering out of her body, hammering the same message -

_Follow._

Eve did. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve and Villanelle go for an evening stroll, and Villanelle makes dinner.

It was dark by now. People were at home, finishing up dinner with their familes, gathered by the telly. 

Eve was following an international assassin down a quiet Birmingham street. 

Villanelle walked briskly, hands shoved into her jeans pockets. Her hair fluttered loosely down her back, glinting under the streetlights. They were alone on the street. 

Eve followed warily, a few yards behind. "Okay, where are we going," she called out in exasperation after a minute. 

Villanelle looked over her shoulder but didn't stop. "I don't know where YOU'RE going. I need to drop off this stinking apron. They'll dock it from my pay if I don't return it." Now that it was just the two of them, she had dropped the native Birmingham dialect and was back to her usual accented tones. Eve ignored how nostalgic the sound felt. 

"But you - you told me - you said you were waiting for - I thought you wanted me to -" Eve's head was whirling. What was Villanelle playing at? Hadn't she been the one waiting for Eve, the one to ask Eve to come with her? And for that matter -

"You're working at a FRIED CHICKEN joint? The FUCK?"

"Fried chicken is delicious, and free if you work there. Plus," she glanced over her shoulder, "it beats answering phones all day. So don't judge." 

Eve bit her lip. That Villanelle had been keeping tabs on Eve was not surprising. But the other woman wasn't going to be forthcoming with answers. Eve remembered from past experience the ease and readiness with which Villanelle enjoyed deflecting questions. 

Eve needed answers. And she wasn't going to lose eyes on Villanelle. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Fuck it. I'm coming with you."

"In the mood for some fried chicken, are you?" 

"How could I possibly be the mood for food?" Eve remembered, abruptly, the last time she had eaten, or more specifically, failed to eat. The words died in her throat, strangled in their infancy. Her feet stopped moving, and it took her a few seconds to regain her composure.

Villanelle stopped, too, watching to see what Eve would do next.

Eve had to say something. Anything. "You ruined my dinner last night, you bitch," she managed. "Do you have any idea hard it is to get brown sauce stains out?"

Villanelle's eyes narrowed. Her lips parted, and her tongue darted out, licking them. "So that's the part you want to talk about, huh?"

Eve saw the challenge in Villanelle's eyes. 

No way. No fucking way was Eve going to give Villanelle the pleasure. 

Stony glare met stony glare in silence as they faced each other on the sidewalk, occasionally punctured by passing car lights. 

Eve's stomach rumbled. 

"Okay!" Villanelle said brightly, clapping her hands. "Okay. Your stomach is crying out for attention. I will treat you to some fried chicken. You will not have to steal it this time." She turned on her heel and resumed walking. 

"I was not stealing - god, whatever." Eve hurried after her. "We're just walking all the way to the fried chicken place?" 

"It's not far, just a couple of miles more." 

A couple miles more. A couple miles more of this, walking in the dark, tracing Villanelle's figure with her eyes, her familiar outline silhouetted against the night sky, that style of walking that Eve somehow knew by heart. All Eve could hear were the padding of their footfalls, her harsh breathing, her heart thudding in her ears.

Villanelle was alive.

Eve was alive.

That had to mean something.

But what? 

===

Sam's Fried Chicken was already closed for the night. Villanelle let them in through the back.

"After you," Villanelle had said.

"No, after YOU," Eve had spat back.

There was a silent tug of war, which was once again broken by Eve's rumbling stomach. Eve, feeling betrayed by her stomach, growled and relented, practically sprinting through the door to put distance between herself and the other woman.

She lingered by the server's counter, watching as Villanelle flipped on lights and fired up the fryer. Soon Villanelle was frying spicy chicken and fries like a natural. 

"You look pretty comfortable there. You been doing this job for a while then?" Eve ventured.

Villanelle shrugged noncommittally. "It's not hard. Coworkers are nice. Good teachers. I'm a fast learner. Not as long as it takes you to learn how to use a fax copier." 

Eve decided to just be direct. No point in trying to trick Villanelle in answering anything. "So how long have you been watching me, then?" she demanded.

Villanelle fluttered her eyebrows. "Eve, not everything is about you."

"What IS it about then? Tell me," Eve demanded. "I know you're not here to kill anyone, and you're not here to kill me." 

"And you know that how?"

"I know because people haven't died!" Eve cried. "I haven't died! So why are you here? In England? In bloody Birmingham?" Eve exclaimed. "Who the fuck even comes to Birmingham?"

"You, for one."

"So we're back to this!" Eve said, feeling a spark of triumph, and if she had to admit it, pleasure. "Are you here because of me, then?"

Villanelle scooped the chicken and fries out of the fryer and drained the oil. She paddled the food onto two plates in equal portions. "Salad or no?"

"Uh ... yes please. But just tell me why you're here."

Villanelle tore open a bag of prechopped salad and emptied its contents onto one of the fried chicken plates. She poured the rest onto another empty plate. This, plus the other plate of fried chicken, she set in front of Eve on the counter. "Your order's ready, ma'am!" she said brightly, slipping back into the Brummie accent.

Keep breathing, Eve told herself. Just keep breathing. 

Villanelle grabbed a handful of plastic cutlery and napkins, and sat down at one of the tables with her plate stacked to the brim with food. She tossed the spare cutlery at the seat across from her, clearly expecting Eve to sit there.

Eve sighed, picked up her plates, and prepared to have dinner with her tormenter. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Villanelle reveals why she is here, and Eve has a breakthrough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: implied threats of violence and coerced sexual acts, extreme toxicity in a relationship.
> 
> A YMMV note - your mileage may vary, as well as your interpretation of the characters and their motivations. This is just one potential one.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Villanelle ate ravenously and heartily, forking chicken and salad into mouths in equal measure. For all her hunger, Eve could only pick at her plate.

They talked about the local weather. They talked about the local traffic. They talked about the neighbourhood. They talked - or tried to, for one painful moment - to talk about local sports teams, and even Villanelle gave up on that avenue pretty quickly. They talked about the many stray cats that wandered the area. Eve briefly remembered she'd wanted to get one, thought about telling Villanelle that, and wondered why. 

Villanelle was nearly done eating, and all Eve had was ample confirmation that Villanelle knew way too much about Eve, that Villanelle knew this area REALLY well, and was no closer to finding out out why Villanelle was here. 

"Is the food not to your liking?" Villanelle said politely. "You're not eating much." 

"Ah, no, it's excellent," Eve responded automatically, before she remembered what she was doing here. She steeled herself. "So, uh, what was the point of all this, anyway?"

Villanelle stopped chewing. "This?" she repeated, with her mouth full.

"This," Eve repeated, gesturing at the restaurant, "this," she waved at the chicken, "this." She motioned at the two of them. "What are we even doing here?"

"I," Villanelle pointed at herself with her fork, "came to drop off my apron. You," she jabbed at Eve, "were hungry. We," she drew a circle in the air, "are having dinner together." 

"You were waiting for me. You told me to come with you. At the police station," Eve said, slowly. She hadn't watched Villanelle stuff herself just to walk away empty handed.

Villanelle shrugged. She sniffed, looked around at nothing in particular. Shoveled in another mouthful of food. Picked her nose.

Eve laughed in outraged disbelief. "Are you fucking with me? Are you just toying with me now? Having fun watching me squirm and try to get answers out of you?"

"Yes, actually," Villanelle said, swallowing her food. "Yes. That is exactly why I am here." 

Eve froze. "To, to what? To watch me squirm?"

"To toy with you, to fuck with you," Villanelle said. "Maybe even to fuck you."

"Fuck YOU," Eve spat, bile rising to her throat. She grabbed her plate with both hands, clenching her fingers around the edges.

"I wouldn't recommend that," Villanelle said calmly. "I'm not giving you any more food, and I am going to be SO annoyed if I have to clean that up." 

"Is this about -" Eve stopped abruptly. She had avoided thinking about that moment ever since it happened - ever since Eve had done it - and she couldn't bring herself to talk about it now. 

"You know what this is about," Villanelle said evenly. "You want to see it?"

"Villanelle, look, please -"

"You want to see your handiwork?" Villanelle started to pull her shirt up, exposing her pale midriff, and the edges of an ugly scar on her left midsection.  "Eve, do you want to see what you did?"

Eve averted her eyes. "Villanelle. I, I, look. I didn't, I didn't mean to - if you would just give me a minute to-"

"Save it." Villanelle dropped her shirt and took a noisy slurp of her soft drink. "I don't want or need your rationalisations." 

"But if you would just -"

"I honestly don't care what you have to say," Villanelle snapped. She breathed in and out quickly, then let out all the air in a slow whoosh. Eve waited a beat until it looked like Villanelle would let her speak.

"There's got to be something I can do to make it up to you," Eve pleaded helplessly.

"You have any bright suggestions?" VIllanelle drawled, dragging out the words.

"I don't know... I don't know! What do you want from me?" 

Villanelle looked at her, eyes shining, her expression the same inscrutable expression from - from that night - Eve couldn't -

"This," she jabbed at Eve's plate of fried chicken, "makes us even for the dinner I ruined. As for this -" she put her hand on herself, "I'll make you pay for this. Slowly. Gradually. Eventually."

"For ... for ..." Eve wasn't sure if Villanelle had realised. "For your heart?" she finally said, softly.

They both looked down at where Villanelle was covering her left breast. As if stung, Villanelle jerked her hand lower. "For this." It came out a snarl, and her face was ugly. "Last night? Not even close to covering it."

Eve felt a strange sense of vertigo, like she was being torn in two separate directions. "Explain to me exactly what you mean," she said weakly.

Villanelle's grin was wide and unnatural. Feral. "Maybe keep your back door unlocked for me next time. Or I might have to break it down." 

Villanelle's meaning sunk in. Eve was furious. "You think I'm just going to sit in my home and wait around for you helplessly? You don't think I can give you one on your right to match the one on your left? I've done it once, I can do it again -"

"Seems like Niko's found a new bridge club. Maybe I should go pay him a visit instead?"

Eve let out a sob. "I'll scream. I'll call for help. You'll get caught." 

"No one is coming to help you, Eve." Villanelle leaned forward. "No one will stop me. If you stop to think about it for a second, you'll know I'm telling the truth."

_I think if you went high enough, you'd probably find we work for the same people._

Villanelle was here as a guest at the courtesy of people much more powerful than both of them. Pull the right strings, and they could make anything disappear.

Eve had been completely cut off. No one cared she existed. No one cared what happened to her. 

She was completely on her own. At Villanelle's mercy. 

Her head buzzed, heavy; she felt faint. 

Something - something tiny was was niggling at her. Something weird. Her brain grabbed on it, through the haze. If only her brain could get a good grasp on it, give it a good tug -

Villanelle stood up, her chair rattling sharply against the ground. "I'll get you a takeaway box for that." She was all politeness and smiles again.

"How long?" Eve demanded. "How long are you going to - torment me?"

"Until I get bored," Villanelle said lazily. She placed the takeaway container next to Eve's plate. "Would you like me to fill that up for you?" 

"I'll, I'll, I'll report you to the immigration department," Eve laughed in despair and threw her hands up, slapping them over her face. "Oh, god. Fucking useless. I don't even know why I said that." 

Villanelle went ahead and emptied Eve's plate into the container, then bagged it. "Here you go!" She held the food out. "No charge for the plastic bag. I won't tell if you don't."

"Why haven't you killed anyone?" 

The question hung in the air. Eve looked up from her hands. 

Villanelle's smile was stiff, her eyes frozen. Her grip on the bag tightened. "How do you know I haven't been killing anyone? Maybe you just haven't been smart enough to find the bodies."

It was the first spark of glee Eve had felt since dinner started. 

_She's lying._

And Eve could tell.

That made her even giddier.

"I can certainly make it more obvious, if you want," Villanelle said. "Leave the bodies in more obvious places, that sort of thing."

"Okay, okay, jeez," Eve said hastily. "No need. I mean, thank you for offering, but your current level of killing is completely fine as it is. Oh, and thank you for the leftovers." She plucked the bag from Villanelle's fingers, pretending not to notice how it felt where their skin made contact.

Villanelle eyed her warily. 

"Um, I'd better get going," Eve said, standing and making for the exit. "Thank you for a lovely, uhhh."

"Eve, what the fuck?" 

"What, what the fuck? I'm just trying to be polite!" Eve protested nervously.

"Yeah. I don't like it."

"Would you rather I were rude to you?" Eve exclaimed. "Because I really don't mind. Fuck you, Villanelle, go fuck a tree, go choke on a log, go jump in a lake, go die in a fire." She turned to leave.  

"Eve," Villanelle said softly, dangerously. Her eyes glittered. "Would you like me to walk you home?"

Villanelle was trying to put Eve in her place. It was working. "No, thank you," Eve whispered at last.

"I'll see you when I see you then." Villanelle gave a half wave. "Bye bye."

Eve backed out of the door, not taking her eyes off Villanelle, and then stumbled into the night. 

===

Eve practically flew home, her heart racing. She didn't know why, yet, for certain, and there were dozens of valid reasons, all equally likely, but of two things she was certain:

 _Villanelle was in the country for her. For revenge._  

_Villanelle hadn't killed anyone, definitely not in the UK, and possibly not since her injury in Paris._

As long as Villanelle was here, with her, trying to torment her - _Villanelle wasn't killing people. People wouldn't be dying._  

This vendetta, this revenge that Villanelle was inflicting on Eve - it meant she could keep Villanelle occupied. As long as Villanelle was stalking Eve, other people would be safe from Villanelle. 

If it meant that Eve had to put up with Villanelle's shit - that wasn't a large price to pay.

Eve's head buzzed with danger.

Eve's heart - Eve's heart didn't mind at all.  
 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve engages in her favourite past time - thinking about Villanelle.

It wasn't until Eve was reheating the fried chicken leftovers in the oven for breakfast that she finally grasped on the thread that had been niggling at her the night before:

What in the world was Villanelle doing working at a fast food joint?

Eve remembered Villanelle's stylish apartment in Paris, bankrolled by her mysterious employers - the luxurious wardrobes, filled to the brim with designer clothes; eclectic souvenirs dotting the walls and surfaces; the mini-fridge filled with champagne. She seemed like a woman who had been well-compensated for the work she was doing. On the other hand, if Villanelle wasn't a salaried employee (monthly pay, with benefits), but instead paid per contract kill, it stood to reason that she wasn't being paid for it if she was on a break from it. Hence the need for a supplemental job, which asked few questions and had fewer requirements. 

Eve thought back to Villanelle from the night before. Instead of sleek, fashionable clothing, she'd been in a ratty store T-shirt and jeans and sensible sneakers. Her hair had been clean but unkempt, as if Villanelle couldn't be bothered to do something fancy with it. 

Eve remembered the missing scent of Villanelle's familiar perfume. 

How well was Villanelle handling the transition to living on fast food wages? Probably not well at all, judging from her former lavish lifestyle - she seemed like a woman who enjoyed not having to worry about price tags, who prized the ability to take what she want when she wanted it, to have complete control over the satiating of her desires. It made sense, considering her past, with her parents, and and her profile, considering the kind of person she was -

Eve caught herself. It had been a long time since Eve had found herself ruminating obsessively over the little breadcrumbs of Villanelle's life in order to find out what made the other woman tick. It was a surprisingly easy and time-consuming trap to fall into, and served no practical purpose other than it was something Eve enjoyed doing. 

The chicken was done. Eve pulled the chicken out of the oven and shoved it in her mouth. It was still perfectly tasty. Eve chewed and ruminated.

More important right now than Villanelle's past was Villanelle's current predicament, and what that meant to Eve. If Villanelle had willingly forgone her beloved life of luxury, just for the sake of getting her revenge on Eve, by ... what was it Villanelle was aiming for, exactly? Terrorising Eve, for an indefinite amount of time, keeping Eve off balance, slowly driving Eve mad in her isolation ... 

Eve shuddered, and cut off that train of thought. 

If Villanelle was willing to go that far just to ruin what little remained of Eve's life, Villanelle must still be nursing quite a giant grudge against her.

Eve had done a lot of self-reflection and self-flagellation in the early days after Paris, and she was in no mood to revisit those circular arguments. What was done was done. There was no erasing any of what Eve had done, or why she had done it, or what Villanelle had done to make her do it. All there was now was to look forward to what lay ahead.

What lay ahead was an indefinite period of terror at the hands of one pissed-off, vengeful, assassin-on-a-break. 

Which Eve would endure, willingly, if it meant it kept Villanelle's hands free of blood, even if just for now. It might not mean much in the grand scheme of things, but for now, it was all Eve could do.

Eve had never wanted to save the world. Those were dreams that other people had. 

Eve ... Eve just wanted to matter. 

She checked her phone and email one last time. Nothing. Her messages to her old colleagues had gone unanswered. No one at MI6 cared about an anonymous tip that there was an assassin (albeit on a break) roaming their country freely. No one had checked in to see how she was doing. And as Villanelle had predicted, there was zero follow up from the police about the assault report she had filed. 

The chicken was getting stuck in her throat. 

Eve made up her mind. If she had to face down whatever was coming on her own, she would damn well be ready for it. She'd find out everything she could about her adversary. Knowledge was power. And with power, maybe her torment wouldn't have to last indefinitely. 

She drained her tea and checked the clock. It was late morning. She was still off from work, so she'd slept in, gotten a good night's rest, and had woken well rested. She was fed. She was caffeinated. 

She grabbed her jacket, headed out the door, and prepared to track down an assassin (on a break.) 

===

Eve made a beeline for Sam's Fried Chicken, filled with determination.

She figured that Villanelle had to be staying nearby, somewhere within walking distance - easy access to Villanelle's place of work, as well as Eve's home. Her plan was to watch and wait nearby, out of sight, for Villanelle to get off her shift, then tail her home. 

Her plans immediately hit a snag.

Apparently, Villanelle didn't work the early shift. From a distance, Eve could see no sight of her at the counter or in the back. When she approached and tried to ask someone if they knew where she was, some of kitchen staff who recognised her from the day before instantly started shouting and shooing her away.

"We don't want no more trouble, lady!"

"If you want food, you gotta pay!"

"Stop harassing us! My fingers are on the dial button, 999, you know I'll call them, you know I'll do it!"

Eve couldn't believe it. She could never show her face at Sam's Fried Chicken again. 

Still, she found a bench to wait on at the corner across the street, and she settled there for the day. When it came time to eat again, and people from Sam's refused to serve her, she petulantly walked the few blocks to the OTHER fried chicken place (Alex's Fried Chicken and Pizza, they were fine, but Sam's chicken was just so much better). She hoped that she wouldn't miss Villanelle showing up while she was getting a slice of pizza.

Eve waited out the rest of the day across Villanelle's store without any sight of her. She wondered if Villanelle had suspected what Eve might be up to, and deliberately not shown up and taken the day off work. What if Villanelle was close by, right now, watching Eve wait for her? 

===

The next day of Villanelle-watch, and Eve's last day off from work (any more and she'd need a doctor's note) was also a bust. Just like the day before, Villanelle didn't show up at Sam's Fried Chicken.

To cover all her bases, Eve had searched all the nearby eateries, grocery stores, and any retail place where a young 25-something without a decent resume or a UK degree or high school diploma might work. She had the picture of a younger Oksana Astankova with her, showing it to those willing to talk to her and asking if they'd seen anyone who looked like her. No positive hits. It was a pretty old photo, after all. Or maybe Villanelle was covering her tracks somehow.

Or maybe she wasn't in this area at all.

Eve went back to work the next day, and the next day, and the day after that, without any sight of or contact from Villanelle.

Eve should really have known. 

There shouldn't even have been any doubt that Villanelle was waiting for Eve to be at her most relaxed, at her most vulnerable, before striking again.   
 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Villanelle reappears with her intention to torment Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: forced sexual contact, at knife point. Dubcon.

Eve was just getting out of the shower after a long day at work when Villanelle entered her bathroom. Eve shrieked, and nearly slipped. "How did you -"

"Your back door needs repairing." Villanelle lazily dangled a broken door knob from one hand, which she tossed over her shoulder. The other hand gripped a knife. Eve vaguely noted it was the same knife that Villanelle had used last time - maybe she couldn't afford another one? - as Villanelle approached and forced her to back up against the bathtub; any more and Eve would fall in. 

Villanelle gazed at Eve serenely. "You know what to do."

Eve, completely naked, hair and skin still dripping wet, stood frozen and rooted to the spot. Normally, her modesty-preserving instincts would have kicked in with another person invading her personal space so intimately, but Villanelle hadn't broken eye contact once, and it seemed silly to cover up when that seemed like the least of her problems right now.

Villanelle's eyes widened. "You need me to say it? Fine. Get on your knees."

A whimper of air escaped Eve's lungs as she dropped to the ground. That was going to leave a bruise.

Villanelle moved her hands to undo the front of her jeans just as Eve reached out fumblingly at the same time. They jerked back when their hands touched, Eve's fingers barely avoiding getting sliced off by Villanelle's knife.

"What are you doing?" Villanelle exclaimed.

"You, you, you had me do it last time, so I thought, you know," Eve was babbling, "maybe you'd want me to do it for you again, because, you know, you can't really undo your pants with a knife in one hand, and maybe you needed to keep that knife on me, and it would be kind of awkward for you-"

"Oh my god," Villanelle groaned, "just get on with it."

Tentatively, Eve undid Villanelle's jean button, unzipping and tugging down her jeans and underwear slowly.

She glanced up at Villanelle, who was looking down at her.

Villanelle swallowed and licked her lips. "Get on with it," she repeated, her voice low.

Eve craned her neck and moved her head towards Villanelle's crotch. This time, she was allowed a moment to process what she was seeing: a mound of soft brown curls, tender pale lips, and in between them -

"Get on with it." Villanelle's voice was hoarse.

Eve pressed her lips to Villanelle's, and kissed them. 

Villanelle stiffened. Her knife hand grasped onto the nearby sink for leverage. Her other hand snaked through Eve's curls. 

Cautiously, she reached her hands around Villanelle's waist and grasped Villanelle's ass cheeks, spreading them slightly, earning her more access to Villanelle's folds. She tried to please Villanelle mindfully, this time; her mouth moved deeper, back to front, up and down, varying in direction and speed; her tongue flattened and swiped and swirled.

Villanelle's hand tightened around her hair, but she made no move to stop Eve. "Did some research online, did you?" she grunted, breathing hard. She swallowed, and added, "You need a lot more practice."

Eve nibbled a bit harder on Villanelle's clit than intended.

Villanelle hissed, tugging Eve's hair harder. 

Eve tried to remember what she used to like, when Niko had gone down on her. She kissed Villanelle's plump outer lips, occasionally tonguing the sensitive perineum, then slid her the tip of tongue along Villanelle's inner lips, up and down, in a circle, avoiding everything in between. She'd like it when Niko had teased, withholding the contact she so desperately craved where she most desperately craved it. Her hands alternated between lightly caressing the skin on Villanelle's ass cheeks and squeezing them. Slippery moisture dripped down her chin, covering her face; her nostrils were filled with Villanelle's scent, so unlike the harsh perfume that Villanelle chose to wear; no, this was much stronger and humbling and carnal and sweet and toxic and poison and honey and -

Someone was moaning. 

Their eyes snapped open, in horror. It hadn't been Villanelle.

An invisible gate snapped shut over Villanelle's eyes. She grabbed Eve's head with both hands, and before Eve could react, began rutting frantically against Eve's face. 

Eve couldn't stop watching Villanelle's face above her. Villanelle's eyes were wide, round, seemingly focused on one point beyond Eve's head, her lips parted, her face devoid of discernible expression, seeking, seeking something, something, that one thing -

Until Villanelle stopped moving, until Villanelle came quietly, shuddering, until Villanelle's breath finally evened out -

Eve didn't - couldn't - stop moaning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm FINALLY where I wanted this to be, in relationship to "Niko was a good man", and I can FINALLY MOVE ON TO THE NEXT BIT OH MY GOD
> 
> I thought this was going to take me two chapters, tops
> 
> It took me EIGHT
> 
> I'm so sorry if I'm letting down to the commenter who gave me excellent advice about outlines and word limits and stuff because I'm basically addicted to feedback and also want to churn this out as fast as I can before the weekend is over because that's going to be a week of not writing argggh


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve forces herself to reflect on what has happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of physical and sexual assault.

Eve was pretty certain - and if she hadn't been sure before, it was pretty obvious now - that whatever Villanelle was doing to her, Villanelle had no desire for Eve to enjoy any part of it. 

Villanelle had punched her in the stomach, again, knocking the wind out of her, and then ran off again, knife gripped tightly in hand as she fled. Eve hadn't thrown up this time; maybe, knowing the blow might be coming, she'd moved her abdomen in just the right way to avoid the worst of it. Maybe Villanelle had decided to let her off lightly this time.

Eve half-laughed in disgust; wincing as she clambered to her feet; as if getting punched in the stomach could now qualify as being "let off lightly" in any shape or form.

Her hair was still sopping wet, from her shower before Villanelle - 

She moved to dry herself off, then realised she'd be better off with another shower anyway. She stepped gingerly into the tub and turned the water on full force. With hot water blasting onto her face, energy gradually seeped back into Eve's limbs. The constant drumming of rushing water on her shoulders and in her ears cleared her mind. 

She could think clearly. Much more clearly than after the first time Villanelle had -

The First Time, Eve mentally corrected, capitalising the encounter in her mind. 

The First Time had taken her completely by surprise and caught her off-guard; it had left her discombobulated, off-kilter, bewildered. All she'd been able to do was react. She'd been reluctant - afraid - to revisit the events in her mind, and since then she'd averted her eyes. 

She had averted her eyes from the fearful memories that those might have been her last moments on earth; Villanelle, the last sight she saw; Villanelle, the last taste on her mouth; Villanelle, who she thought had might be dead but instead was there, alive, wronging her.

She had averted eyes to avoid remembering it had really fucking hurt to get sucker punched in the stomach.

But - more than anything - Eve had averted her eyes from the wretched, buried truths within her that the encounter had threatened to wrench to the surface.

Eve had had a lot of time to reflect since the First Time. She had been determined not to repeat the experience.

For now, Eve forcefully turned her gaze to the events of the Second Time, still fresh in her mind, picking at them one by one.

The punch to the stomach had the most obvious significance - a symbolic retribution in return for the stab wound Eve had given Villanelle. Intended to inflict pain, instead of permanent damage or death. Villanelle still wanted - or needed - Eve alive, for something; revenge in the form of indefinite torment, Villanelle had said, but nothing was ever straightforward with Villanelle.

Eve tried to remember if the knife Villanelle had brought to both encounters had been the same one Eve had used to stab Villanelle in Paris. Her memory of the weapon from then was hazy; it had had a distinctive design, and maybe she'd be able to pick them out of a lineup if asked, but she'd simply grabbed all the useful weapons available at the time and hadn't taken any time to memorise their shape and form. It clearly meant something to Villanelle, though, if she'd brought it both times. 

Villanelle had broken into the privacy of Eve's home, twice now; the Second Time designed to hit her at her most vulnerable and literally most naked. Villanelle had counted on the natural human inability to maintain constant vigilance. Even if Eve was determined not to make the same mistake again and keep her guard up, Villanelle would just patiently wait her out. Unless Eve managed discern a pattern to Villanelle's actions, or find out where she was coming from, Villanelle would just catch her off guard again and again.

Eve's brain ground to a halt.

She couldn't put this off any longer. 

She forced her eyes open, her vision blurred by the running water.

Villanelle had sexually assaulted her. That was a fact. 

Villanelle had deliberately inflicted an act of domination and humiliation on Eve. Was there a specific purpose or motivation? A simple desire for revenge, or a basic need for physical release, at a cost to Eve? She could only speculate. 

Both times Villanelle had sought her own release, brusquely, and then left quickly after. Both times she had chosen a position of dominance over Eve, so as to able to look down on her literally and figuratively. Both times, Eve had - Eve had -

Eve squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists tightly at her side. 

_Focus. Focus._

The First Time, Villanelle had controlled the situation from beginning to end. Her goal had been exertion of dominance, keeping Eve subjugated, making sure that the one possessing all the control had been Villanelle and Villanelle only.

The Second Time, Eve had wanted to retain some form of self, to make sure at least something, anything she did was of her own will. She'd done some research, she'd mapped out in her head how it might go, she'd even cut her nails for crying out loud, anything to create a semblance of choice. Unexpectedly, Eve had surprised them both -

Eve shook her head wildly. _Focus!_

The first time, Villanelle had looked at her with such inscrutable eyes. She had been cold, ruthless, efficient. 

The second time, Villanelle's eyes had been - had been so -

Eve remembered Villanelle on her tongue, on her lips - the shape of her thighs, in Eve's hands -

The sound of Eve's own voice, her own wanting -

She slammed her hands against the tiled wall in front of her, curling her fingers against the tile.

Touch me, her body screamed.

Eve screamed back, refusing to give into its demands, even if she could no longer deny its truth any longer. 

_I want her._

_I want her._

_I want her so badly._

_Even like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This was a tough chapter.
> 
> I understand a lot of people might have trouble with this, so if I lose some of you on the way, I just want to say that I appreciate that you've stuck with it this far.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve's door knob needs replacing.

Next morning, Eve called a local locksmith to have her back door door knob and lock replaced and called out of work so she could wait for him to arrive. Her colleagues were somewhat horrified that her house had been broken into twice in as many months, and urged her to consider moving; after all, she was a pretty rough neighbourhood. Eve thanked them for their concern.

Eve clicked through TV channels and browsed news sites automatically, sipping her tea, as she waited for the locksmith to arrive. Thinking about Villanelle had been - Eve could admit it - one of her favourite past times. It had always provided a small frisson of excitement, positive or negative. When things had been murky, and unclear, and complicated, Eve could tell herself that there was a puzzle she needed to solve, that everything was necessary for the sake of the truth. Now, with all that she had been willing to admit to herself, everything laid out in stark, clear contrasts - having actually reached a truth, however reluctantly - she found that it was much harder to think about Villanelle the same way she had before.

She resolved to empty her mind of the woman for a change. It would be nice not to have to worry about Villanelle for a while. 

There was a knock at the front door. Eve went to get it.

"Oh, bloody motherfu-"

"Hi, I'm from Smith's Locksmiths, your number one option for locksmiths. You called for a locksmith, ma'am?" 

Eve slammed the door shut in Villanelle's face. 

===

It took a single call to Smith's Locksmith - who insisted that they were terribly sorry about any misunderstandings, and sorry that Tom Rutledge hadn't arrived yet, but they would send out Watson Chin, and he would be there in a jiffy - for Eve to decide that maybe she was fine with the person they'd sent after all. If Tom Rutledge's body turned up in a ditch somewhere later, she didn't want Watson Chin joining him.

"Oh, what a lovely home," Villanelle trilled as Eve let her in. "It's very nice to enter through the front, for once -"

"Oh, shut up," Eve snapped. "Just do what you came here to do and be gone."

Villanelle's smiled widened. She was clearly delighting in Eve's displeasure. 

"I came here to fix your lock?" Villanelle gestured at the back door. 

Eve watched warily as Villanelle pulled out a bunch of tools and got to work. It was apparent, even after a few seconds, that Villanelle knew exactly what she was doing.

"Are those Tom Rutledge's?" Eve asked, gesturing at the tools.

"No idea who that is," Villanelle smiled. Her fingers were busy at the door. 

"You quit your job at Sam's? Haven't seen you there lately."

Villanelle shrugged. "Maybe you just haven't bumped into me at the right time."

Eve had checked there randomly, on various days of the week when she could squeeze it into her schedule. Villanelle had not been there once. 

"You know I can't go back there anymore, right? Because of you?"

Villanelle just smirked, hands busy.

"So what is it you do now for a living, besides impersonating locksmiths? Are you sure you're going to able to make rent? It's not exactly cheap to live in this city."

Villanelle shrugged again. "I have my ways."

Eve examined Villanelle's clothing. Still just plain old ratty T-shirts, jeans, sneakers, a baseball cap. If she were secretly still being bankrolled by secretive organisations, there was no sign of it. Still, Eve suspected that Villanelle could easily wear whatever she wanted to give whatever impression she wanted.

In spite of everything, it really did look like she was trying to install a new door knob. Eve peered more closely. "Wait, are you actually seriously here to repair this?"

Villanelle just smiled. 

"Where did you even learn to do all this?"

Another enigmatic smile. 

A thought occured to Eve. "You wouldn't happen to be planning to keep spare copies of the key, right?" 

Villanelle looked delighted. "Oh, what a great idea! I hadn't thought of that."

Eve threw her hands up in the air. "There are less roundabout ways to get a copy of my key, Villanelle, without breaking my damn door. You could have just asked, or, I don't know, threatened me a knife point, like you've been doing?" 

"I'm trying to make it up to you," Villanelle protested. "Stop complaining."

"You do know money doesn't grow on trees, right?" Eve said, exasperated. "I actually have to pay to get this thing replaced. To get money, I have to work. Do you see how I'm not at work today? Do you know how often I've been calling out of work because of you? Do you know that puts my ability to pay locksmiths in danger?"  
   
"No one asked you to play hooky just so you could play detective." So Villanelle knew Eve had been trying to track her down. Eve filed that away for later use. "Besides, this is on me. My treat I broke your lock, so I'm fixing it. Then we're even." 

Eve stared at her. "What is this, anyway?"

"This?" Villanelle knocked the door knob. "This is a mortice deadlock, complying with British Standard BS3621 -" 

"THIS," Eve exploded. "You. Here. After - one day after -" 

"Well, I broke your lock," Villanelle explained patiently, "and now I'm fixing it."

"Are you here to check up on me? Is this the plan from now on?"

"Is what the plan?"

"Day one, you come into my house and assault me. Day two, you show up with a shit-eating grin on your face, to, what, make sure I'm suitably fucked up?" 

"Yeah," Villanelle said brightly. "Let's go with that."

Eve took a step back. She looked at Villanelle appraisingly. 

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Eve shook her head. "No," she said quickly, a little too loudly. "No. I was just wondering if you wanted some tea."

"Ooh, I'd love some tea, some Earl Grey would be lovely." 

Eve headed into the kitchen. Put the kettle on.

Something was off.

Well, when it came to Villanelle, things had always been off, but -

There had always been a pattern, a thread, something to tug on, and follow, so that everything could unravel. 

It was strange, and Eve couldn't understand why she thought so - but for the first time, it occurred to Eve maybe Villanelle actually had no idea what she was doing here.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve and Villanelle have a cup of tea.

When Eve returned, a steaming over-sized mug of tea in each hand, Villanelle was still knelt next to the open back door, putting the finishing touches on the door knob replacement. Eve waited until Villanelle noticed her to hold a mug out.

"Oh, ta, Eve," Villanelle smiled, putting her tools down and taking the mug with both hands. Her fingers slid skittishly over Eve's wrist, and they both barely managed to avoid dropping the mug before Villanelle had a hold of it. 

"That was clumsy of me," Villanelle said quickly, "nearly made a mess of your floor!"

"No problem at all," Eve said just as quickly, backing away. Her back bumped into the wall, and she sagged against it. She allowed herself to observe the other woman for a few moments.

From this angle, Eve could see where Villanelle's hair parted atop her head, off to one side; there was a closed hole in one earlobe where missing earrings would be. Her skin was still clear, if somewhat pallid, and completely devoid of any makeup. Sitting back on her heels, she lowered her head to the mug instead of raising it to her face, pursing her lips to blow on the tea before each delicate sip. For some reason, Eve had the image of a cat bobbing its head into a bowl as it lapped up water.

From this angle, Villanelle was just ... normal. Not the brilliant, elusive, frightening monster whom Eve had tracked across Europe from her laptop, who had somehow evaded notice from everyone except her, who had sliced up a trail of men and women and mobsters and politicians and a hospital ward of people and witnesses and Bill - oh, Bill -

"Milk and sugar to your liking?" Eve said.

"Ooh, yes," Villanelle said between sips, "this is lovely." 

"How's the door knob coming along?"

"Oh, just finishing up. It's pretty much done. I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy." 

Eve cocked her head. "Are you a tea person, Villanelle?"

"Hm? How do you mean?"

"Well, you know, people have their thing when it comes to caffeine," Eve waved her hand. "Some people prefer coffee, others prefer tea. Don't they drink a lot of tea in Russia?"

Villanelle took a slow sip before responding. "I'm more of a coffee drinker myself."

"Ah," said Eve in understanding. "Very easy to get good coffee in Paris, I'd imagine,."

"Yes, it is," Villanelle said, her eyes growing distant, "all over Paris, there are so many little gems of places hidden everywhere in plain sight, you wouldn't believe, just near my apartment, there's a -" She stopped, abruptly. "The coffee here is shit." 

"Can't argue with that," Eve agreed. "So, besides the coffee, how are you finding life in England?"

Villanelle narrowed her eyes. "I keep myself busy."

"I'm not trying to get anything out of you," Eve said, raising a hand placatingly. "I'm just chatting with you. Over a cup of tea." It was half true, anyway.

"Chatting over a cup of tea," Villanelle repeated. 

"I mean, I'd much prefer to be chatting with you over a cup of tea than, uh, doing - doing something else." Eve's voice trailed off, her throat tightening. This statement, she meant completely. She glanced at Villanelle's face to see how she was responding.

Villanelle's expression was impassive.  

Eve looked into the dark swirl of her mug.

"I am liking the curry here," Villanelle said suddenly. "It's very sweet."

"Yeah?" Eve felt a smidgen of tension leave her shoulders. "There aren't any decent Indian restaurants in this neighbourhood. Where do you usually go?"

"Here and there." 

"Ever tried out the Taj Mahal? You know, the place just around the corner from my office." There was no use pretending Villanelle didn't know. "Their chicken pasanda is to die for." 

"It's not bad," Villanelle agreed. 

"Have you tried their peshwari naan?"

"I've tried everything you like there, Eve."

To her own surprise, Eve snorted. "As creepy as that is, it's kind of amazing how you do that. It's like you have a superpower."

"What do you mean?"

"Just ... you. You show up, everywhere, yet I have never managed to see you anywhere. I have no idea where you are, while you know everything about me. You're just invisible, and everywhere. It's amazing. You're amazing."

Villanelle looked like she couldn't decide whether to be flattered or on guard. Likely she was remembering the last time Eve had said nice things about her to her face, which had ended in - 

"Had a chance to see a bit more of the country yet?" Eve pressed on. "Manchester's just a couple of hours away... we're just next to Shropshire, which is true English countryside, if you like that sort of thing. Wales is pretty easy to get to as well, if you have a chance to get down to the south coast, there they filmed -"

"I'm having a lot fun staying right here in Birmingham."

Eve couldn't help her burst of laughter. "Oh, that is absolutely the saddest thing I have ever heard."

"What's so sad about it?" Villanelle actually looked confused, which was a new look for her. 

"It's, well - Birmingham!" Apparently Eve's sensibilities were offended enough that she'd challenge an assassin on this. "You've lived in Paris, and god knows where else, and - Birmingham? How does it even compare?" 

"It's not Paris, but it's not terrible," Villanelle defended. 

"Okay, name three things you like about this place," Eve said. "No, name ONE. I dare you." 

"The curry."

"You can get curry anywhere, it's basically our national cuisine at this point."

"There are some decent museums."

"Yeah, like you've had time to go to any of them. What with how busy you've been. With everything you're up to."

Villanelle shrugged.

"Okay, fine, the museums are passable, I'll give you that one. Okay, one more."

Villanelle took a long, slow drink before she uttered her last one. She looked almost shy. "You."  

Eve swayed on her feet.

Did Villanelle mean she liked it here because _Eve_ was here?

Or did she mean she liked it because of all the things that she had _done_ to Eve here - that she'd been able to do to Eve here - that she was going to continue to do to Eve here -

How dare the girl just sit there, all tentative, and innocent, and vulnerable, and so achingly beautiful, after all she'd done, after all she'd put Eve through -

There was a crack in the glass - there was a knife in her hand - 

"I put poison in your tea," Eve said coldly.

The effect on Villanelle was instantaneous. The oversized mug of tea dropped to the floor, splashing everywhere. Villanelle scrambled backwards, crawling to her feet, hitting the door behind her. Her face became, at the same time, both terrified and terrifying.  

The knife was out. 

The regret was overwhelming. "Wait, wait - I didn't mean it - it's not true - I was joking -"

"HAHA, SO FUNNY, EVE -"

Villanelle lunged at her.

There was a moment, as the flash of the knife glinted, that Eve thought, _maybe this is it_ , and for a split second part of her felt relieved - not because she was about to die, but because she'd finally know for sure what Villanelle was going to do -

Their eyes locked, for a moment that felt like eternity - 

The knife stuttered, paused. It changed direction.

"Shit," Eve realised what was about to happen next. She twisted her body and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. "Not my stomach, not my stomach -"

Villanelle punched her in the face.

Eve crumpled to the floor, ears ringing, clutching her head. The sound of Villanelle's heavy breathing and her footfalls disappeared into the distance.

Well. That could have gone better. 

Eve had bared her fangs, to show Villanelle that she wasn't powerless. In response Villanelle had unsheathed her claws and struck back, to remind Eve that she was.

Why had Eve expected it would have gone any other way?

Why was Eve still alive? 

Eve blearily looked around. The back door had been left ajar, Villanelle's tool kit left there forgotten. Great. Not only did she have to clean up two mugs of spilt tea, she had potential crime evidence left in her house now.

She shook her head, and instantly regretted it. She sighed. Time for another trip to the ER.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve finally decides to start cooking for a change.

There was no concussion or anything serious, just an ugly bruised cheek, so Eve was cleared to go home.

Some of the nurses in the ER recognised her from before. She overheard them conversing in hushed tones, just out of sight. They were uttering things like "poor dear" and "it's her face this time" and "Maggie from the precinct said that maybe there never was a house invader at all" and "that rat bastard better get what's coming to him." One of them came up to her, arms full of pamphlets and heart full of compassion, with advice on resources and websites and hotlines and statistics and safe houses, and did Eve know that it was okay to talk to someone, and did Eve know help was available, and did Eve know she was not alone? 

Eve thanked them for their time, then walked out of the hospital doors, past the elderly people with canes, and the family members there to visit, and the cars pulling up, and all the people coming and going, every day, in and out, in and out of a place of life and death and healing and dying and pain and love. The world kept moving, with or without her. 

She knew what it must look like to people. Hell, if she'd seen a woman looking like her, she would have held that woman tight, not let her go home, and strangled the rat bastard who'd done it to her. 

Except Eve's rat bastard was not your standard run-of-the-mill rat bastard.

Eve had tried to talk to people it. They had offered no help. She was alone in this. 

And yet. 

People she didn't know - people she didn't remember - people she might never meet again - they had looked at her, and seen her, and offered her an outstretched hand, some kind words, and a stack of pamphlets. 

It wasn't going to help, really.  
   
But Eve felt less alone. 

Eve looked up at the cloudless sky. For a change, it wasn't gloomy, overcast and wet. The sun shone bright and the blue was boundless. 

===

That afternoon, a local TV news station reported that a Tom Rutledge was found dazed and disoriented after passing out in an alleyway a block from his parked van, two blocks from her home. A cranky neighbourhood person was lamenting how unsafe it was, how thefts and muggings were on the rise, how the crime rates had shot up by 35% lately, and what the heck were our taxes going to, and couldn't somebody just do something about it already? Eve idly wondered how much of that crime rate spike Villanelle was single-handedly responsible for, as she screwed in the last bolt in place in her back door. Villanelle had left the job unfinished when she had run off. As far as Eve could tell, in addition to what had to have been a stolen toolbox, Villanelle had also left behind every single copy of Eve's new back door key. It was just one more thing, along with everything else, for Eve to fail to figure out.

When she was done, she plopped down onto the floor, exhausted, and just stared at her doorknob for a while. Villanelle had done pretty good work. Even if she had left the job unfinished.

She was clearly smart; learnt quickly and profusely; was good with her hands; knew how to talk to people. She would have had a bright future in anything she chose, if she'd only been born in the right time and place.

Instead, circumstances had conspired to make her a deadly weapon. 

But Villanelle was just a girl. A girl Eve had stabbed in the gut. A girl who would react poorly to the threat of poison in her tea. A girl who was mortal, and therefore stoppable.

A girl whose pulse had thrummed against her lips, shivering above her; whose fingers had once traced her face oh-so-preciously; a girl who had once been to Eve so lost and chilling and focused and inaccessible, and still was. 

Eve still found it hard to look at her own hands, sometimes. It would remind her of the sight of them covered in warm, gushing blood - Villanelle's, and Villanelle's victim's before that - and she had known approximately three seconds after she had slid the knife into the other woman that she could never, ever, ever do anything like that ever again. Part of Eve had been killed that day, by her own hand - 

The feeling of bright, vivid, liquid life essence, oozing out of a living person into her hands, HER hands, unable to stave the flow of life as it left its host - 

Eve gagged, remembering, and had to bend over to recover her breath. 

Everyone died, eventually, but at their own time and at their own pace. Eve couldn't let herself - wouldn't left herself - be, ever again, a person that would hasten the flow of life of a human being in the wrong direction. Not to someone who was unsuspecting, unguarded, open, defenseless. Not ever again. If attacked, Eve would defend herself, of course, she didn't have a death wish. But always and only, from now on, she would act in a way that she could live with. One where she wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night for months after, haunted by the memories of what she had done, the full weight of her choice bearing down on her. There were unspoken rules about this sort of thing.

Villanelle would never follow those rules, of course. It didn't mean Eve had to be like her. 

... which didn't leave Eve a whole host of options at the moment. 

Maybe it was time to rethink all of this. 

Every time you got into a car, someone might kill you in a car accident. Every time you rode a plane or boat, there might be engine failure, or a storm, or turbulence, or a crash. Every time you walked in the street, you could die from getting run over, stabbed in a mugging, or something ridiculous like falling into a sinkhole. If you were unlucky enough to live in regions prone to earthquakes, or forest fires, or flooding, chances were that a natural disaster would get you. You couldn't plan for it. If it happened, you just had to hope for the good luck to survive it, and if not, the good grace to accept it.

Villanelle was Eve's personal accident. Her own natural disaster. And Eve would simply have to treat her as such. 

If Hurricane Villanelle swept into her life and didn't kill her, then Eve would just do her best to pick up the pieces of her life, and rebuild, and move on. Until the next time, and the next, and the next... and, if, things were to end, well -

Eve realised, to her utmost surprise, that she was kind of okay with that. 

Accidents simply happened. Natural disasters simply occured. And Villanelle just was. That was just how things were, sometimes. 

It didn't mean it was fun to live through, though. 

She wondered if there were ways to make a hurricane more bearable. 

Eve pushed herself off the ground. She was going to do some shopping. 

===

When Eve got to work the next day, her coworkers were suitably horrified when they saw her face. She hastened to assure them that it looked worse than it felt, and after a flurry of overly familiar concern, people slowly trickled back to their desks. People kept wandering by, though, some with work questions they normally wouldn't come to her with, some to offer advice about real estate and better neighbourhoods Eve might want to move to, some to chitchat about nothing, and some just to openly gawk. It was more attention Eve had gotten all month. It was a little grating, but oddly gratifying. Some people just brought her random food to munch on. She did like a good Cadbury milk bar. 

She remembered, then, that some of the passersby might have attempted to reach out to her in months past, here and there, and she had politely acknowledged them all and then rebuffed them. She resolved to do something nice for them - or try to, at least.

In the days that followed, Eve began to wake up before work to go for a jog. She did more grocery shopping than she had before. She tried to teach herself to cook, downloading recipes online, practicing and experimenting with pots of stew, pans of pie, loaves of meat that were inevitably too much for one person to consume. The leftovers became her lunch at work and extras for her coworkers to take home. Her coworkers' gratitude fluctuated greatly depending on Eve's success the night before. She began to see - just a little - why Niko had loved cooking for her so much. It was still a crap ton of work and the cleanup could be brutal, but it kept Eve busy. 

She still checked up on him, once in a while, just to make sure he was still alive, but that was all.

She checked up on Villanelle, too, or at least her handiwork. Nightly, from the comfort of her sofa with her laptop balanced on her knee, she kept a casual eye out for suspicious incidents that would have her hallmark style. Still, always, nothing. 

Otherwise, she didn't spare any further energy and time searching for the other woman. Days became routine again - exercise, work, home, cook, internet, sleep - on repeat. She stopped taking days off early to prowl the neighbourhood, searching for a glimpse or a shadow of the other woman. It made her slightly more popular at work, though there were more sympathetic looks her way these days whenever someone made a reference to her former plentiful and irregular work absences; likely they thought the slowly fading bruise on her face had something to do with it.

Villanelle was never far from Eve's thoughts, but she no longer eclipsed Eve's each breath and waking moment. She was just kind of there, a long, shallow cut barely under her skin, half-healing, sitting there always. 

Eve felt better than she had in months. 

===

It was under these circumstances, the bruise nearly faded from her face, that one day Villanelle barged into her kitchen.

"Oh, hi!" Eve said brightly, looking up from the oven in her direction. "You're just in time."

Villanelle stopped short, her eyes darting all over the room, at Eve, at the oven, and finally resting on the table where there were plates and cutlery set for two. "...what is this?" 

"I made dinner," Eve said, pulling the dish from the oven and placing it on the table. "How do you feel about fish pie?" 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve does not want good pie to go to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: threats of physical violence, sex that is not dubcon. 
> 
> People may disagree with me about whether or not it's dubcon, but my intention is that it's not. You have been warned! This is the warning!

"I'm glad you figured out the door was unlocked. It would have been kind of a pain for you to break the lock again so soon after you fixed it!" Eve said as she shuffled around the kitchen. "I know, I know, a woman in this neighbourhood leaving the door unlocked... but there's only one thing I'm afraid of, and well, you're already here, so... "

Villanelle's eyes followed Eve warily around the room.

"I wasn't really sure what kind of food you like, but you seem like the type of person who'd eat just about anything, and there was a special on fish tonight." Eve bumped a utensil drawer shut with her hip. "And I know you're okay with pie already, so I thought I might as well give it a shot!"

Villanelle's facial muscles seemed to be in disagreement with each other about where to settle. 

"I don't really know how well it turned out, it's my first time using this pie crust," Eve admitted, leaning over her finished product, "but I've been practicing a lot, and I'm pretty confident that it turned out okay. Or edible, at least," she conceded. "Big piece or small?" 

Villanelle still hadn't budged an inch from where she stood. 

"Oh, come on, I worked really hard on this," Eve said, cutting herself a piece. "I've practiced - tons, by the way, not that you care, and I had to get, like, a whole set of pots and pans and everything, I got this whole twelve-piece set and I've maybe used, like, three of them? It's highway robbery, I tell you -" 

She lifted a slice of pie onto her plate. There was a small shuffle at the corner of her eye, a tiny hitch of breath. 

An odd suspicion, nestled deep in the pit of Eve's stomach, suddenly and violently untangled, bursting throughout her chest. She locked eyes with Villanelle. 

How had she not seen it before?

Eve lowered the chef's knife in her hand to the top of the pie again.

Villanelle took a step back. 

The red hot feeling rushing through her chest surged, tossing her heart around her rib cage. Her blood roared in her ears. She had the urge to sink her teeth into something soft, and fleshy, and warm, and rip it out. 

_There was a knife in Eve's hand -_

Villanelle's face was ashen. 

Eve breathed out. 

Slowly, deliberately, without taking her eyes off Villanelle, Eve wiped the sauce off the blade of the knife with her fingers and licked them off, one by one. She lowered the knife to the table and set it down. 

And then she let it go. She stepped away from the table. 

"We don't have to eat if you don't feel like it." Eve's voice was low. "If you feel like doing something else." 

Villanelle closed her eyes and tilted her head to the ceiling, as if counting to ten. Then, expelling a lungful of air, she cocked her head to one side and looked sadly and apologetically at Eve.

"I'm sorry, I can't eat your pie." 

"Why not?"

"Because," Villanelle gestured with her knife. "You have to eat all it all. You have to eat all of it so I can find out," her mouth twisted, "if you poisoned it or not."

Oh. Shit. Right. That. 

Villanelle advanced upon her. 

Okay, maybe Eve hadn't played this one quite right.

"Wait, wait - before - before we go on," Eve backed up hastily, hands outstretched, "can I just ask one thing? Just one thing? Can you please, please not punch me in the stomach again? It REALLY hurts."

Villanelle actually paused in her step, her eyes widening at Eve's audacity. "That, that - that is the whole point," she shouted. "To make you hurt. Are you under the impression that this - any of this - is negotiable?"

"Well - well - I'm sick and tired of going to the ER! There are people in this country who actually need real medical help, without me clogging up public health services!"

"You seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit," Villanelle said, slightly nonplussed. "I don't care what you think. I don't care what you want. None of this is for your benefit. None of this is for your enjoyment." She raised her knife. "Do not think for a second that I can't - or won't - kill you." 

Eve forced her breathing to slow, taking in deep breaths of air, allowing them to fill her stomach and straighten her spine. "I have never, ever forgotten, nor doubted, not for a single moment, that you are capable of killing me," she whispered. "I never forget the danger I'm in when I'm with you."

Her words had more than the expected effect. Villanelle's entire body seemed to sag with released tension; her knife lowered, just a fraction. 

"But," Eve stared into Villanelle's eyes, "do not for a second think that you can dictate what I do and don't enjoy." 

Villanelle's nostrils flared; she licked her lips. Her throat bobbled as she swallowed.

"Is that a challenge?" she said finally. "Because I can think of many, many ways to make you regret saying that." 

Eve's blood froze. The depths of what Villanelle might be capable of - Eve didn't want to find out - didn't know if she could survive it -

The visible terror on Eve's face seemed to appease the other woman. "Get on your knees."

As when Villanelle had uttered the words before, the last time, in the bathroom, Eve was shaken to the core. Her legs were weak. She tumbled to the ground in supplication. Her fingers were ready and undoing Villanelle's pants before she was even asked.

This time, there were no words.

Eve buried her face between Villanelle's legs, sculpting her hands to the back of Villanelle's ass, kissing her way up the exposed skin of Villanelle's thighs to the junction between them, tonguing and tasting her curves and folds and liquid nectar as if her life depended on it, as if her hunger couldn't be sated; and it couldn't, it wasn't, it just kept growing, and growing, and growing, and growing.

Villanelle had sagged against the table, both hands gripping the edge tightly, almost as if unwilling to touch Eve with her own hands, letting Eve's unruly mess of hair run wild. Eve wondered if maybe Villanelle was afraid to touch her. 

Eve wasn't afraid though, not now, not with her nose on Villanelle's clit, her tongue circling Villanelle's hole, feeling the beginnings of a long, quiet shudder against her, she had forgotten how to be afraid -

Strong hands pulled her up, and Eve whimpered, her whole body screaming at the loss of the feeling and the warmth of Villanelle shivering against her face and mouth -

\- replaced with Villanelle's mouth crashing against hers, not in a kiss, it couldn't be called a kiss, she was being devoured alive, that's what it was, she was having her breath stolen from her, sucked out from her lungs, oh, she couldn't breath in the best way possible, warmly and wetly was she being invaded, and still it just kept growing and growing, and oh, she was coming, she was coming apart, she was coming apart so suddenly and she was coming apart forever, why couldn't this moment just last forever, why couldn't this moment just last, why couldn't it just always be like this - 

Eve put her hands on Villanelle's shoulders, and shoved, with all her might.

Breathing hard, they watched each other over the space that had opened up between them. 

Eve glared, spreading her arms to her sides, waiting. "Well?" she croaked. "How are you going to hurt me this time?" 

Villanelle's eyes shone as she slowly pulled her pants back on.

"Are you going to punch me again? In the stomach? In the face? Are you going to use your knife? Where?" 

Villanelle was wiping her mouth, as if trying to erase all of the taste from it. 

"How badly do you want to hurt me? How much until you've hurt me enough?" Eve had had so, so many questions, and they kept tumbling out, one after the other, and she couldn't stop them. "How long is this going to go on for? When are you going to get tired of it? Why are you doing this?" 

Question after question, all in place of the one question that she wanted to ask, but couldn't. The only question, she now realised, that she wanted the answer to. 

Villanelle turned on her heel, and walked out of the kitchen.

"Wait, I'm not done -" Eve, fixated, dashed after her. "Where are you going -" She stopped, faltering, when Villanelle spun around and lifted her knife threateningly. 

Eve sensed the silent promise of violence, and for the second time that evening, something that had been niggling at her was now untangled in her mind.

_Follow me, and I will incapacitate you._

"Fine," Eve said, backing away. "Fine. You do whatever. I'm going to have dinner now. No point in letting good pie go to waste."

She didn't look back. She plopped down at her kitchen table and forked a mouthful of fish pie into her mouth. It was good, but a little salty. That might have been because of the tears trickling down her face into her mouth, though.

The sound of Villanelle's footsteps, and the opening and closing of the door, to indicate her departure didn't come. Eve steadily ate her dinner, feeling Villanelle's presence on the other side of the wall.

It would have been too weird to go to her bedroom, pass through the hallway, and be greeted by the sight of Villanelle still standing here, like a spectre. Eve plopped down on her couch and waited for the sound of Villanelle leaving. 

Before she knew it, she woke up in the the dead of night. She hadn't even remembered falling asleep. She shuffled towards the kitchen. The lights were still on, her dishes unwashed. 

Her pie dish was missing though. 

Eve thought that had to count for something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to everyone if I didn't get to your comments, it's been a joy responding to each and every one of them and I do intend to get back to it, once time allows. There may be even MORE typos than normal! 
> 
> If I can turn this into another weekend marathon I WILL


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve and Villanelle establish a routine.

They settled into a routine, sort of. If you could call it that. 

Days were filled with exercise, commutes to work, spreadsheets and word documents, meetings and phone calls, coworkers making fun of her cooking. Nights were spent alone, filled with longing and hunger, and unanswered questions, and staring into the dark until her eyes finally succumbed to exhaustion.

And throughout, Eve's life continued to revolve around Villanelle's ever-present spectre.

Villanelle had not popped up out of nowhere to surprise her the day after she made off with her pie pan. She had returned it to Eve's front step, a few days later, fully cleaned with a small handwritten note saying simply "my friends said it could use less cheese xx" in her lazy, all-caps scrawl. Eve had decided to ignore the advice, because honestly it was dreadful advice - you could never have too much cheese on anything, after all.

Eve had idly wondered what sort of friends Villanelle had, or if Villanelle was even capable of making them. Maybe Villanelle had force fed her leftover pie to random people she met on the street just to see if they actually keeled over, mouths frothing. Villanelle's loss, then; it had been, by Eve's standards, a perfectly capable pie.  

The handwritten note, Eve tucked away in the wooden box where she had started to accumulate her assorted Villanelle junk - the compiled report on her early years, the note from the perfume, the photo from Russia. She wondered how long it would take the box to get full. If it would ever have the chance to get full. 

Every evening Eve cooked enough for two, trying new things and refining old attempts, setting two places at the table for dinner each night, just in case. Most of the time she ended up putting one dining set away and packing the extra leftovers to take to work. 

Other nights, Villanelle came by. 

Villanelle "coming by" usually consisted of the same thing: Villanelle would barge into her home, interrupting whatever it was Eve was doing at the time; Eve would eat her out while on her knees, bringing Villanelle to her climax. Villanelle would be scary, just threatening enough to keep Eve on edge.

And yet, somehow, something had changed with Villanelle. Her now preferred method of inflicting pain upon Eve only took place while Eve's head was buried between her legs, when she might fist Eve's hair and pull hard by the roots, or dig her nails deep into Eve's scalp; a new and elusive tenderness would occasionally manifest in a stroke of Eve's cheek here, or a thumb brushing against Eve's lips there, so light and brief that Eve could never even be sure it had happened. 

At the end, Villanelle would jerk Eve's face to hers and press their mouths together desperately, the touch of Villanelle's lips leaving Eve at times frantic with desire and other times furious at the other woman's capriciousness.

But, always, in the liminal, breathless space just after, there would be a shared, steady glance between them, a moment both too brief and yet endless, where questions would be asked and remain unanswered, and decisions already made reaffirmed again, making Eve want to simply dissolve into to the ground at the weight of it all. 

And then the moment would end, and time would start moving again, and Villanelle would leave, and Eve would remain, aching, unsated, still hungry, and still wanting more, a hole remaining open and unfilled inside her.

Part of it was physical, for sure. Her body would scream at her for release, and her waking brain would stubbornly deny it its pleasure, making Eve keep her hands to herself. She opted instead for long cold showers, and long hard runs around the neighbourhood, never the same path twice. 

She took a LOT of cold showers. Her feet got to know the neighbourhood REALLY well. 

And in spite of all her efforts, in the dead of night, after Eve had succumbed to sleep, her body and mind would conspire to betray her, filling her dreams with warm and red and soft and moist and gentle and she would awaken to the insistent, raging pulse of her own orgasm. 

Part of it, too, was because Eve simply didn't have any answers. Why this was happening, why this continued to happen, why Villanelle was allowing it to happen. Maybe Villanelle, like her, had just simply and finally come to some sort of decision about something. Or maybe Villanelle was still just fumbling through this, just like Eve was. If Eve pushed the why of it too hard, maybe it would all fall apart, and so Eve stopped pushing.

And yet another part of it was ... something else. Something Eve steadfastly refused to give definition to. Because then, then, then - it would become too real. 

===

Eve's coworkers began noting that the previously daily "leftovers in the kitchen!" message in the common work chat became every other day, and then soon only once a week, if that. A couple of them joked "if you're seeing someone, is there a chance you can break up with them so you can start bringing in free food for us again?" and she would reply "not seeing anyone, I'm just paying someone for sex in dinner, and the sex is too good to give up, sorry" and everyone would laugh, thinking she was joking. Some people came up to her privately and said they were happy for her, because they didn't know better, and all in all Eve had to say that her coworkers were a decent sort, and she felt relieved to have them.

===

Villanelle kept coming by more frequently.

Eve started leaving to-go containers out.

And throughout it all, Eve just kept wanting more, more, more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a continued thank you so much for reading.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve tries for more.

Every time, instead of staying for dinner, Villanelle would take with her a significant portion of whatever Eve had prepared, using one of Eve's plates or pans or bowls, and once even making off with an entire pot of stew, lid and ladle and all. After the first few times this happened, which never failed to tick Eve off to no end, Eve left out empty lidded tupperware containers. Whenever Villanelle failed to make use of them, Eve would let her displeasure be known at Villanelle's next visit, applying a few more nips and bites than she would have otherwise, and Villanelle would hiss and retaliate accordingly. Maybe she was doing it on purpose. Or maybe Villanelle was just super lazy and liked eating directly from the pot.

After a while, Eve began to feel motivated to see if she could ever actually make Villanelle stick around.

She started getting fancy, trying to imitate the way French chefs would put a tiny dollop of food in the middle of a giant plate with sauces adorning the edges exquisitely, or stacking the food up precariously high one ingredient on top of another, like a food Jenga tower. Surely Villanelle wouldn't feel the urge to ruin such brilliant works of art by toppling them into tupperware containers and instead feel moved to eat them on the spot.

Not only did Villanelle knock them over remorselessly, she gave Eve a sweet, witheringly condescending smile every time, the way a teacher might reward a first-grader for managing to colour her scribbles between the lines. "Aww, how cute," she'd say. Or she'd complain how tiny the portions were. SO rude. 

Eve got into an escalating arms race with her, cooking in increasing volumes that required progressively larger cooking ware - huge vats of steaming spicy Korean stew, large portions of roast meat, entire woks of fried rice or noodles, almost daring Villanelle to try and lug the whole damn thing out of there.

Unsurprisingly, Villanelle rose to the challenge, every time. No matter how glad Eve was to be to finally be able to make more use of her twelve-piece cooking set, she didn't want Villanelle to walk off with her kitchen ware every time, even if she always did return each piece spic and span. 

What ended up working was something entirely unexpected and astonishingly sappy. 

One day, Villanelle came in into the kitchen to find, alongside a cheesy seafood gratin, a chocolate cake covered decorated with bright white icing and sprinkles, lit candles on top.

Villanelle actually stopped in her footsteps, eyes seemingly transfixed on the wavering candle flames. The moment she noticed Eve staring, a smirk descended quickly over her features. "Are we having a party or something?" she inquired innocently, actually performing a damn shoulder shimmy.

Eve was so surprised that Villanelle led with a question for once (and distracted by the memory of the shoulder shimmy, and the memory of what had happened after the last time she'd seen Villanelle's shoulder shimmy) that it took her a second to answer. "No, no party," she said. "Just birthday cake."  

"Your birthday was three days ago," said a puzzled and amused Villanelle.

"Yes. It was." Eve gritted her teeth, ignoring how silly and needy she sounded. She knew Villanelle had known. The little bitch. 

Villanelle ignored the unspoken question. "Offering your guest three-day-old cake is the height of rudeness." She looked delighted, though. 

"Well, you wouldn't be eating it three days old if you'd come earlier, would you now?" Eve said testily.

But Villanelle wasn't responding, eyes still transfixed on the cake. 

Eve couldn't tell if Villanelle was aware what her face looked like - eyes round and wide, a small upward curve at the corner of her lips, mouth slightly parted, a face that almost looked like hope. The whole thing was so out of the ordinary for their routine that Eve for a moment was at a loss for what to do next.  "Just so you know," she broke the silence, "you don't get to take the whole thing this time. I need to save some for my coworkers."

"I don't care about your coworkers," Villanelle announced. "We'll celebrate both our birthdays."

"Your birthday's months away," Eve exclaimed. 

Villanelle looked pleased that Eve had deliberately reminded them both that Eve knew. "Doesn't matter, we can still celebrate them both. To birthdays!" She moved around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors without asking.

Eve didn't stop her. It wasn't like Villanelle hadn't invaded her life enough already without Eve's permission. "So ... are we eating first, then?" she asked cautiously. 

"Well, of course! That cake is three days old already, we can't let it age even further." 

Eve rolled her eyes. "You want to start with cake?"

"Nothing wrong with starting with dessert," Villanelle said brightly. "Where do you keep your wine glasses?" 

"Oh, I don't have any," Eve said.

"What, you drink straight out of the bottle now? Have I driven you to such depths of despair?"

Eve crossed her arms tightly around herself. She wasn't sure she was ready for that sort of joke yet. "I ... I don't keep alcohol in the house." 

Villanelle paused mid-movement, looking over at her. "You do many incomprehensible things, Eve, but that is the most incomprehensible yet."

"I wasn't making good decisions when I drank." Eve returned Villanelle's stare levelly. "So I decided to stop."

It was Villanelle who looked away first. "Where do you keep your plates, then?"

"Above the sink. Cake knives are in the second drawer on the right." Eve paused, debating internally if the next thing she was about to say was worth it, or her the worst idea yet. An uncontrollable urge to provocation eventually won out. "You can hold onto it," she drawled. "If it makes you feel better."

Villanelle's jaw dropped. Her expression morphed into one of mock, exaggerated horror. Then she slowly lifted one hand, and just as slowly, raised her middle finger.

When it reached its apex, Eve couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

This was, simply put, plain fucking weird. There was no other way to describe it. Was she actually doing this, standing in her kitchen, preparing tableware, jokingly referencing events in their shared past, laughing _with_ the monster who had caused her so much pain and trauma? As if it were all completely normal? When HAD it become so normal? How far had Eve gone off the deep end? 

No, Eve was well past the deep end. She should have realised the moment she started baking a birthday cake with the intention of sharing it not with her coworkers, or the few social acquaintances she could barely call friends, but with the woman she sort-of-had-sex-with sort-of-regularly who had killed her friend and whom she had once stabbed. The deep end was so far away and so high above her that Eve could probably go to the moon, circle it three times, and come back, and still not be able to make her way back out.

"I will cut the cake," Villanelle said grandly, "seeing as we are celebrating my birthday and all."   
   
"MY birthday," Eve reminded.

"Both our birthdays," Villanelle grinned. She cut Eve a dainty slice and walloped off nearly half the entire cake for herself. 

"I honestly don't understand," Eve sighed, easing into her chair and taking a bite, "how can you eat so much and still look like that."

"I exercise a lot," Villanelle said, taking in one giant mouthful at a time. "Not as much as you do, though."

Eve clattered her fork to her plate. "Oh my god, can you please, just, for once, just for now, not bring up how creepy you are?" she groaned.

Villanelle raised her hands. "Okay, okay. No creeping. We'll keep it nice." She chewed and swallowed. "I like this cake."

"Thank you." 

"Wait, we have to sing now. It's the rules. Happy birthday to us, happy birthday to us, happy birthday to - come on, join in! I'll start again. Happy birthday to us, happy birthday to -"

"No, I'm not going to sing with you - Villanelle - oh my god."

For all that Villanelle was crazily talented at everything she did, the girl apparently could not carry a tune. Or maybe this was her chosen way of inflicting torture on Eve tonight.

===

After everything Eve had said, Villanelle still left with the entire cake, saying that either she got to take it with her, or she'd just kill anyone else so she could have it all to herself. Eve was too tired to fight her on it. It wasn't until after Villanelle had left that it finally occurred to Eve that all they had done that night was to share cake and dinner. 

In spite of what she had said, Villanelle had still spent most of dinner verbally tormenting Eve with reminders of how oh-so-scary-and-mean she could be. It hadn't really stuck though, because, firstly, Eve was starting to learn to read when Villanelle genuinely intended danger for Eve, and when she was merely performing it.  

Secondly, either in a weak attempt to scare her, or an equally unconvincing attempt to pull the wool over Eve's eyes, Villanelle mentioned just a few of the kills she had done recently, while she had been too busy to come visit Eve on her birthday. The problem was, Eve had already read up on those incidents, and she possessed 99% certainty that those had not been by Villanelle's hand, simply based on all the details surrounding each case. Villanelle had to know Eve would figure it out. Or maybe she didn't. Eve remembered someone telling her, so long ago now, that the moment you wanted to believe anything was the moment that you undermined everything, and that she couldn't lead with assumptions. But this wasn't just an assumption. This was based on pure, simple analysis of the facts, and the facts told her that none of the kills had been Villanelle, no matter how much Villanelle wanted to pretend they were.  

In her last conscious moments that night, just before drifting off to sleep, Eve languidly noted that the empty, gaping, hungry feeling that had been her sleeping partner for the past few weeks was strangely quiet. But before she could dwell too much on what it meant, she fell asleep, and slept exceedingly well. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve still wants more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sex, briefly.

If, a year ago, you had asked the then Eve Polastri where she thought she'd be a year from now, she would have answered: _the exact same place I am now!_ Working 9-5 at a desk job, stable but mildly unsatisfied with the work and her career progression; blissfully wedded to Niko, her stable, sturdy husband; going to birthday parties and karaoke parties and pubs and hosting friends for dinner; and in her spare time, scouring books and news articles and research papers to crack open and solve the one thing that thrilled her the most - the heart of a female assassin. The violent juxtaposition of femininity and ruthlessness; the inherent contradiction of the stereotypical nurturer versus the calculating life-taker - what made a woman who killed, again and again, tick? What were the parts that formed the sum of the whole? Could they be broken down, and reassembled, or detached, piece by piece? 

Eve would not - could not - have imagined, a year later, she would be sharing a dinner table with such a female assassin, night after night, who was currently choosing a rather inopportune time to regale her with tales of her conquests.

"... so, they didn't even notice that he was bleeding out of his ears until the ending credits and the lights turned on!" Villanelle finished with a flourish. "Fancy, huh?"

"Fascinating," Eve deadpanned, her plate of mapo tofu on rice still mostly uneaten. "Villanelle, do you think you could wait until after I'm done with my meal to share next time?"

"But you told me love hearing how I do it," Villanelle complained, spearing a piece of broccoli. 

Eve couldn't really deny this. Emotionally, the particulars of Villanelle's kills should have been troubling; it was always someone's child, someone's parent, someone's sibling whose life she had taken. Practically speaking, however ...

Since before, people had accused Eve of being scarily capable of compartmentalising. Eve had always been able to cleanly separate simple, gruesome facts from their messy emotional significance. She thought it had made her good at what she enjoyed doing. These days, she wondered if the circumstances had been just right, how much she would resemble the present-day Villanelle. Eve had no qualms that she - like all people - was perfectly capable of murder under the appropriate set of stimuli; she had just never let herself wonder how much she might enjoy it. Villanelle had, inadvertently, showed Eve that Eve-as-she-was-now would not. But if her life had taken a slightly different turn - who knew?  

Still, as much as Eve was inappropriately and disproportionately fascinated by the logical minutiae of a female assassin at work, none of this meant that she necessarily liked eating at the same time as story telling. "Sometimes the details just get a little ... graphic, you know?" Eve said. 

Villanelle shrugged. Apparently she did not know. "Well, I can tell you about this one time, in Amsterdam -"

"I was thinking we could talk about something else?" Eve suggested.

Villanelle didn't miss a beat. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?" Her expression remained unchanged, but the challenge was clear in her voice.

The truth was, the list of conversation topics that wasn't off-limits was pretty short.

They didn't talk about Villanelle's past. Not her childhood and adolescence, nor her multiple incarcerations, nor her history of violent crimes.

They didn't talk about their former employers. Not Villanelle's relationship with the Twelve, and how she had gotten involved with them, and what, if anything, she might still be doing for them. Not Eve's relationship or lack thereof with MI6. 

They didn't talk about a single kill that had taken place since their first meeting. Not Bill, not Frank, not Konstantin. 

They didn't talk about their past relationships. Not about about Anna, who was dead, and not about Niko, who was alive.

They didn't talk about what they were doing, why they were doing it, how long they were going to continue doing it, why Villanelle kept coming back to Eve's home, and why Eve kept letting her in. 

They didn't talk about what was going to happen to them. What "them" even meant.  

They didn't talk about anything important. 

That left the following things that they had talked about:

Geography. Places they'd visited, landmarks they'd seen. Places they'd lived: Birmingham, Paris, London. England, Europe, America. (Not Russia. Never Russia.)

Food. Cooking tips and recipes and requests for certain dishes. Food preferences and philosophies. (Villanelle thought Eve overloaded everything with cheese and sodium; Eve thought Villanelle was a pretentious food snob, but was too polite to say this directly to Villanelle's face.) 

Movies. Villanelle had watched an obscene amount of movies, ranging from high-brow to trash, to the point where Eve wondered where she'd had the time to squeeze in contract kills in between. Even Eve hadn't seen half the movies Villanelle knew of. (She also had severe doubt in Villanelle's taste in fiction.) 

Animals. Eve showed Villanelle cute cat pictures she found on the internet. Lots and lots of cat pictures.

Eve's famliy. It had been pretty small, and there wasn't much to tell. There was no one remaining that Villanelle could use against her, anyway. (Villanelle never volunteered any information about hers.)

The weather. There was always something to say about English weather. 

"Dismal rain lately," Eve said feebly. 

The glow left Villanelle's eyes. She shoved a mouthful of tofu into her mouth. "Yes. It rains in England. Lots."

"Yeah, so much rain, right?"

"Uh huh." The last syllable was uttered an octave higher than the previous. 

The conversation died entirely.

===

Eating their meals wordlessly was a fairly frequent occurrence for them, so Eve took the silence as an opportunity to regard the other woman.

In many ways, Eve had realised, Villanelle was still a child. An overgrown, deadly child with a penchant for brazen violence, who could switch from charming to cruel and back to charming again in the span of seconds. Who was warm and writhing and tasted like poison and honey and smelt like secrets -

(Eve hastily cut off that train of thought. She had not yet dared venture too deeply into untangling the age difference, and Villanelle's preference for relationships with older women, and what all that messiness entailed.) 

Villanelle was childish in some ways, animalistic in others. It often felt to Eve like she was having a giant feral cat over for dinner, an apex predator that padded around her house softly and deliberately, who could upend and rend everything apart if she so chose, or was provoked into doing so. It might be possible to communicate with her, and naively hope that some sort of connection had been established, but just like a cat, it was impossible to know what Villanelle was thinking and what she wanted and what pleased her. 

Just like with a wild animal, it was riveting to watch Villanelle eat - inevitably satisfied with anything put in front of her, she devoured her food voraciously and insatiably. The sight of her mouth was mesmerising - opening and closing enthusiastically around every morsel, her tongue occasionally ducking out to lick any flavour off her lips. When she wasn't talking, she rarely paused for breath, and when she swallowed, her throat bobbed and dipped slightly, the muscles in her neck visible for a brief moment before disappearing again.  

It was hard to avoid thinking about what that mouth would feel like on other things. Things that weren't food.

Things like skin. Things like Eve. 

The words came tumbling out before Eve could stop them. "I want more." 

Villanelle raised an eyebrow. "You've barely touched what's on your plate. I'm not giving you any of mine." 

Eve bit her lip. She had a feeling that Villanelle knew what she actually meant, and was deliberately acting like she didn't, which always got under Eve's skin. She hadn't meant to say anything, but now that she'd started, maybe she'd try seeing how far she could go. Just to push Villanelle's buttons. Just because she could.

"I want you to touch me. In the vagina," Eve clarified, helpfully. 

Anyone else might have been taken aback. Villanelle was not anyone else. "Do you still have thrush? Because that can't be very fun for you."

"I'm good now, thanks!" Eve said brightly. 

Villanelle leaned back, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Did you forget? We don't do this." 

"Do what? Have sex? Because I'm pretty sure we kind of are."

"Make change requests." 

"Change requests?" Eve's voice went up. "Oh my god, please don't use change management terminology with me right now, I really don't want to bring my work life into this, and plus it's so not you."

"I've killed project managers before. I know the lingo." 

"Okay, well, then, uh -" Eve threw her hands into the air. "We haven't even defined the project scope and goals yet, so I have no idea why you're even talking about change management. There's nothing to revise. Oh, god. Why are we talking like this?" 

"You brought up project management."

"You brought up change requests!" Eve pinched her nose. "Fine. Forget I asked."

"Forgotten!" Villanelle looked satisfied.

That pissed Eve off. "What are you so afraid of?"

Villanelle guffawed. "Like that's going to work on me." 

"I know what does, though, right?" Eve's chair scraped harshly against the ground as she stood up abruptly. She had barely made it to the knife drawer when Villanelle caught up to her and shoved her against it, pinning each of Eve's hands to the counter top.

"Don't do that," Villanelle whispered, her face inches from Eve's, her breath hot and quick. "Don't do that." 

Eve remembered another time, so long ago, when Villanelle had said the same words to her. Back then, Villanelle had been quietly displeased, threatening death. Now, her eyes were shining with a quiet desperation. 

_Don't change anything. Don't ruin this. Whatever this is._

She was so, so, close - Eve could smell her shampoo, some cheap, common store brand fragrance - 

Eve lunged forward, hungrily, crushing her mouth to Villanelle's, who responded in kind. She tried to escape from Villanelle's iron grip, wanting nothing more than to throw her arms around the other woman, forcing their bodies against each other -

_More, more -_

\- but Villanelle kept her pinned there, angling their bodies apart, so that their lips remained their sole point of contact. Eve arched uselessly, her throat letting out a whine of agitated frustration. 

_More, more -_

Villanelle's tongue snaked into her mouth, warm and moist, and Eve's tongue caressed back. She was finding it hard to decide when to breathe.

_More, more -_

Villanelle groaned, driving her thigh between Eve's legs. Eve barked, ungracefully, at the sudden prolonged contact.

_More, more -_

The noises coming from Eve were uncontrollable, desperate, and embarrassingly unsexy. Eve didn't have the presence of mind to care. 

She didn't last long. It took seconds.

Villanelle let out a staccato, strangled wail, closing the distance between their bodies as Eve quaked and shuddered and fell apart, so that Eve wouldn't fall over. Her arms closed around Eve's waist, in a semblance of an embrace.

_I'm home -_


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve realises she understands less than she thought.

There had been times in Eve's life when, surrounded by love, laughter, safety, and warmth, she had wished time would just stop, right there, like a water globe frozen in time, suspending her in those feelings of perfect and utter contentment forever. This - right here - serenely nestled against Villanelle, was one of those times.

Or it would have been, if Villanelle hadn't dropped her to the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

Eve could barely process it. Still in the midst of regathering her senses, all she knew was that one moment she had been cocooned in bliss, and in the next moment it had gone. She staggered ungracefully to her feet, eyes seeking out the missing body of warmth.

Villanelle had moved to the other side of the kitchen table. Her face did not look like one that was aware of how much she'd just given Eve.

The afterglow was slowly fading. Eve began to recall how mindlessly her body had reacted, how humiliating she had sounded. "I guess that was kind of a turn off for you, huh," she tried jokingly. "Middle-aged woman orgasms like a dying chicken. Ha ha." 

Villanelle seemed distracted, pacing back and forth. A caged, restless, jaguar. 

Eve was still trying to recover from her embarrassment. "I guess it could have sounded like a whale at some point? Ooooooooooh muuuuuuuuuh guuuuuuuuuuud." Her trusty whale impression, frequently deployed in stressful or dire situations. 

Still no response from Villanelle. She actually looked physically ill, verging on nausea, swallowing sickly in a way that was familiar but Eve couldn't place at the moment. 

"Are you alright?" Eve asked. 

Villanelle eye's flickered to Eve's face briefly before she averted her gaze. "I have to go. Goodbye, Eve." She turned abruptly and paced out of the kitchen. 

Eve hastily followed in concern. "Wow, that bad?" she tried one last time for levity.

Villanelle didn't answer. She simply walked out the door and into the night. 

Eve stood alone in the darkened entrance way, trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. 

Her stupor lasted only a few moments. A dormant tendril of thought, buried in the recesses of her mind for the past weeks, now burst through the surface.

She immediately dashed out into the street. Left - right - no sign of Villanelle. Which way? Eve picked at random and sprinted to the left. She circled the block a few times, legs pounding the pavement as hard as she could. None of the passersby she encountered had seen a young woman matching her description.

Eve trudged back to her home in resignation, vowing to get an explanation from Villanelle next time they met.

===

Except Villanelle didn't stop by for a while.

When Eve started showing up at work again with containers of dinner leftovers, it was the buzz of the office for a while. People were kind or knowing enough not to overtly ask her about it, and no one was dumb enough to poke a woman who was no longer getting laid on the regular. The closest someone came to acknowledging it was a guy from Accounting in the break room one day, who just shrugged at her while stirring his coffee and said "Relationships, am I right?" with the dopey, sincere affectation of a fellow comrade-in-defeat.

Eve had wanly agreed, even though she had no idea if she was even qualified to respond. 

Maybe Eve wasn't being ignored. Maybe Villanelle was somewhere out there, alone, hurting, in an alleyway, slowly bleeding out from a -

But then there was the way Villanelle had simply left. No explanations, no look back, nothing. Eve found the idea of Villanelle lost in a ditch somewhere infinitely more appealing than being ignored. 

So maybe Eve was a little angry. 

It wasn't like she and Villanelle had ever clearly defined what they were, though, so she felt that she had no right to that emotion, not for the specific reason she was experiencing it. Hurt? Maybe a little. Confused? Nothing new there.

Lonely? Completely. 

The aching empty hole that had occupied Eve's heart was now back with a vengeance. Villanelle's absence was sorely felt, and was having a tangible affect on Eve's senses. She even imagined that she saw the other woman's back at the supermarket one day.

Ever since Berlin - which seemed aeons ago - the one thing that Eve had always been able to count on was Villanelle's absolute obsession with her. And since then, a large part of Eve had been thrilled with the attention, positive or negative.

More sobering and depressing was that - and it didn't take much for Eve to admit it to herself now - Eve would rather Villanelle pay any kind of attention to her, rather than none at all. Even the worst kind of attention. 

Eve really was a total idiot. 

And the absolute, absolute worst of it all: she wouldn't change anything for the world. 

===

As Villanelle's absence remained constant, day by day, Eve noticed her thinking slipping back to old, obsessive patterns. She began revisiting every single interaction she had had with Villanelle over the past months, poring over them in her mind, flipping them over, looking for hints. All she could come away were mere theories, which were compounded with, to Eve's utmost annoyance and dismay, what closely seemed to resemble the resentment of a neglected soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. 

And with each passing day, Eve's resentment and confusion and loneliness accumulated, drop by drop. 

Things heated to a boil when one day she got a phone call at work from a number she didn't recognise. After she let it go to voice mail, it rung again. And again. 

"Who is this?" she finally answered.

"Hi, Eve, it's me -"

Niko. Eve sat bolt upright at the sound of his voice.

"What on earth - is everything okay? Why are you calling? How have you -"

"I'm fine," Niko cut in. "I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with you."

"Um, thanks?" Eve said. The last thing she had expected was a call from Niko out of the blue. 

"So?" he said, after an awkward silence. "Are you? Okay?"

"Uh ... yeah, yeah," Eve said hastily. "I'm good. Hey, listen. Can I ask why you're calling right now after all this time? Is everything okay with you?"

"I'm fine," Niko repeated. "I just ... I got this really weird text from a number I didn't recognise, saying that you - well, the former Eve Polastri - was going through a pretty rough time, and could really use a caring hand, or something -"

What? Who on earth - oh.

Niko should have been off-limits. 

The smouldering coals in the pit of her stomach exploded. 

"Niko, I need you to listen very carefully," Eve said, trying to keep her voice under control. "Villanelle - the assassin - she's in the country."

"She's - WHAT?!" the voice on the other end voice shrieked.

Eve held the phone a little bit away from her ear. "I don't know why, but she's in England - Birmingham, to be exact. I haven't seen her in ages though, so I don't know what she's been up to or where she is right now, but -"

"Wait, WHAT?!" Another shriek. "You're in CONTACT with her? Eve, I can't even -"

"Listen to me, Niko," Eve commanded. "LISTEN. The authorities aren't going to help. I've tried, and no one has cared. I don't know who's protecting her and why. I don't know why she's suddenly turned her attention to you."

"Eve," Niko said in a strangled voice. "I'll go to the police, they've got to help, MI6, surely someone -"

"Take your loved ones," Eve said, her voice only hitching slightly on the words, "anyone new - anyone important in your life - anyone you care about - pack your bags, get out of the country. Poland, or something. Your parents probably want to see you." 

There was silence on the phone for a while, punctured with heavy breathing. "Jesus Christ, what have you gotten yourself into," he said finally. "Are you really alright?"

"I'm going to be," Eve said. "Thank you for calling, Niko. Thank you for caring."

Niko sounded near tears. "I'll always care about you, Eve. Always, always, always." Maybe he was crying. He always did cry easily. 

Eve couldn't listen to this any longer. She couldn't break down in the middle of the work day. "Be safe, okay? You probably shouldn't call me anymore." 

She hung up.

That was it, then. 

Eve had to find out what was going on. She just had to know. She simply had to. There was no other option.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve desperately wants answers.

Eve was working on a giant pot of chicken curry in the kitchen when she heard the door open. She had thought about preparing Villanelle gruel, or something equally and punishingly bland, but this wasn't going to work if Villanelle didn't like it. 

A few moments later, the woman she'd been waiting for appeared, poking her head and shoulders around the wall.

Eve had thought about for days what she would say to Villanelle when she finally showed up again. All she managed was a "Hello there!" 

"Hello to you too, Eve." 

"Curry tonight," Eve gestured as she stirred. "It's been on the stove for, oh, the past two weeks now? You have no idea what's been tossed in there while I've been waiting for you to show up. Chocolate. coffee beans, orange peel - I had no idea that there were so many random effective curry ingredients."

"It's magical what you can put in a curry and make it work," Villanelle said politely. "Smells delicious."

"Oh, it is," Eve said. "It's a big hit with my coworkers, even if they're getting a little sick of it by now."

"Of course they'd like it. I like your cooking."

Eve turned to face her. "Well, see, here's the thing," she said, her voice rising in spite of herself. "I really don't make the food with them in mind, you know."

"I know."

Eve waited for Villanelle to elaborate, but nothing came. She sighed. "Forget it. Can you hand me that plate?"

Villanelle picked up the plate and handed it over obligingly. 

"How much do you want?"

Now Villanelle averted her eyes. "I'm not staying."

Eve dropped the ladle into the pot with a clatter and set the plate back down. She turned the heat off and wiped her hands on a counter cloth.

"Is this it then?" Eve said. She grasped her hands to her chest dramatically. "Are you here to break up with me now?"

The corner of Villanelle's mouth rose while her eyes narrowed, making her look both amused and confused at the same time. "Were we going out?"

Eve played along. "Not a conventional courtship, to be sure, but I thought there was a spark there. You know how it goes." Then she went beyond. "Girl meets girl in bathroom. Girl kills a bunch of people. Girl gets stabbed by other girl. The stuff of romantic comedies!" 

Villanelle's eyebrows shot to the roof. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Wow. Eve. Huh. That's ... a lot to process."

"And it's not even the half of it!" Eve agreed. "I could go on, but you get the idea." 

"I get the idea," Villanelle repeated. "Eve, I might be imagining it, but are you upset I'm not staying for dinner?"

Eve was glad she wasn't holding anything, or she would have chucked it at Villanelle's head. "Why are you even here? Where have you been?"

Villanelle looked at the ground. "I just needed some time and space to think some things through." She scuffed her toe of her shoes against the ground. "I just wanted to let you know."

"You could have left me a note, you know," Eve suggested. "Or even sent me a text. I'm sure you know my number by now." 

"I just needed some time," Villanelle repeated, her arms tightening around herself.

"Why did you text Niko?" Eve demanded.

Villanelle shrugged. "You've grown kind of fond of me, so I thought you might get lonely without me around."

"Oh my god, I can't believe you! You crazy person!" Eve shouted. She didn't know which part of what Vilanelle had said to be the most angry at. "He's off limits!"

"What? What did I do now?" Villanelle raised her hands. "And just so you know, crazy person is just as upsetting as psychopath, and it's not medically accurate." 

Eve forced her breathing to slow. This was not how she had wanted the evening to go. "Look. I just, I don't know." Eve pressed her hands to her face.

Villanelle watched her carefully.

"Okay, how about this." Eve scooped out a portion of curry for herself, then put the pot lid on the curry and hefted it off the stove. "Here. Just take the whole damn thing with you."

"Eve, I -"

"Please. Just take it as dinner for the week. Or, three nights, knowing how much you eat. And I won't wait around for you. Just stop by when you're ready."

Villanelle's expression softened. 

"Maybe it's good that you don't stop by for a while," Eve continued. "For both of us." 

"Okay. Okay." Villanelle nodded. "Thanks for dinner." 

Villanelle took the pot from her. Eve walked her to the entrance, opening the front door for her. Villanelle waited patiently on the steps until Eve closed the door behind her. 

Eve sagged against the wall. She was exhausted.

===

Eve scarfed down her dinner with the TV on and her laptop open beside her. She clicked around between windows, catching up on news while trying to figure out how to work a new application she had just installed.

Something strange caught her eye. She sat up straighter and stared at the computer screen. 

That couldn't be right. 

She stared closer. 

If she was reading this right, that meant that Villanelle was -

Eve rubbed her eyes. Looked again. 

This whole time. This whole time? It couldn't be.

She stared at her computer screen for hours. Before she knew it, it was morning, and she hadn't slept a wink.

She got ready for work, dragged her bleary ass into the office, and tried to ignore the information that was staring her right in the face. 

When she got home, she double checked again. This time, Eve was sure. 

She stumbled to the closet and rummaged around all the boxes in the back she hadn't unpacked yet. She had claimed a handful of their wedding gifts following the divorce, things she felt too valuable to toss, among them three 1990s champagne bottles that they'd been saving for a special occasion.

So when she told Villanelle there hadn't been any alcohol in the house, it hadn't been entirely true.

Now, she pulled the cork out with her teeth and tipped it down her throat.

===

_There was a crack in the glass -_

She was the glass. There were cracks in the glass. Long spidery cracks, all branching out from one dent after another.

She took a hammer to herself, blow after blow, one after another. The cracks kept multiplying, spreading, and elongating; the glass bent, but never shattered.   

Eve understood now. 

She wouldn't break. She was unbreakable. She would remain unbroken.

She would hold herself together, whatever came at her. 

She would keep hammering, and she would remain unbroken.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve demands answers, and things come to a head.

That morning, Eve headed to work at her normal time. After a few train stops, she got off and took the train back in the opposite direction. She returned to the street where she lived. 

She walked past her front door, crossed the street, and approached the walk-up on the corner of the block. An old man was leaving the building just as she approached, and she slipped in just before the door closed behind him.

She tried each flat facing the street, one by one, checking that no one answered her knock before attempting to unlock each door. 

it took her a few tries before she found the flat she was looking for.

She thought she had the wrong place at first. Whatever Eve had been imagining in her head, it hadn't been this.

As lion's dens went, it was rather underwhelming.

A single room made up the entire flat, all four walls bare and off-white. The room was dimly lit by the light streaming in from the solitary window. There was a small kitchen unit tucked away in the corner just next to the entrance, with stove, sink, fridge and cupboards all crammed together; the only furnishings were a small chest of drawers, a threadbare mattress on the floor and the cardboard box beside it serving as a makeshift bedside table for a laptop and small desk lamp. The cupboards contained the bare minimum amount of kitchenware for a person living alone, and the fridge had a number of small containers filled with leftovers.

Inside the drawers, Eve found a simple wardrobe of T-shirts, jeans, cotton socks and underwear, with a surprising number of T-shirts with local franchises and store names Eve thought she recognised. Two jackets hung from hooks behind the entrance door. Short stacks of brochures, magazines, maps, takeout menus, and transit schedules were lined up side by side under the window. 

Resting on the windowsill was a sleek pair of heavy-looking binoculars, out of place with the mundanity of the rest of the room.

This was the place Villanelle had made her home.

Eve took everything in, trying to reconcile the picture before her with the woman who had tormented her over the past months. She had come looking for answers, but all she'd done was add more questions to the pile. 

She reached into the handbag slung over her shoulder. Might as well keep busy while she waited.  

She didn't have to wait long. 

The door cracked open and Villanelle slipped in, liquid lightning, smoothly pulling a knife from a side pocket and shutting the door gently behind her. At the sight of Eve pouring a bottle of champagne down her throat, Villanelle halted in her footsteps. She raised an eyebrow, slipping the knife back into her pocket.

The bottle left Eve's lips with a pop. "Oh come on, you could at least do me the courtesy of looking surprised to see me." 

Reaching a the rubbish bin next to the door, she retrieved a small tech device, pushed a small button on it and returned it to its hiding place, her eyes remaining trained on Eve. 

"Ah, motion sensor alert to your smartphone, that's how you figured out I was here so fast," Eve said knowingly. "Wait, are you wearing - is that a hot dog uniform?"

At that, Villanelle looked up slightly, and snatched the brightly-striped cap from her head.

"What are you even - you know what? I don't even care. Fuck you."

Villanelle looked taken aback. 

"Fuck. You. Did you plan this? Did you plan this along, with everything else? Just move in, down the fucking street from me, watching me, spying on me, waiting for me to figure it out, laughing at how you were under my FUCKING nose the whole time without me knowing?"

Still Villanelle said nothing, folding and unfolding the hat in her hands.

"How long? How fucking long have you been here? Weeks? Months? Since when? Since the beginning?"

Silence.

"For the love of - Villanelle, please, just tell me," Eve pleaded. "I'm so sick of this. I'm so sick of not knowing - not knowing what's going to happen, not understanding why it's happening, not understand why you're doing what you're doing, and just when I start thinking - just when everything seems like it might - then it's something else, just one thing after another, constantly, constantly -"

And still Villanelle remained silent.

"Come on, say something, like, literally anything. Something smart ass, like you always do. Even a threat! I'll even take a threat right now. Go on, be all scary and shit. 'Woo, I'm going to hurt you, Eve! Raaar! Run for your life!'" Her Russian accent was pretty terrible, and kind of racist, and Eve honestly didn't give a shit. 

"You said -" Villanelle's voice was low. "You said I could take all the time I needed."

"Fuck you! Shut up! Fuck you!" The champagne sloshed around in the bottle in Eve's hand as she waved it around wildly. "Stop giving me all this bullshit, and just tell me what the fuck you're doing here!"

Villanelle's jaw wavered, as though it couldn't form words.

"Fine. FINE." Eve pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me tell you how I found you, at least. Please, at least just give me that. Please just let me feel RIGHT about something, for ONCE."

Villanelle looked at her feet. 

"I just want to talk to you, Villanelle," Eve cried. "We don't talk enough. Don't you think we don't talk enough?"

"We talk sometimes," Villanelle said cautiously.

"Bullshit! We talk about nothing! Nothing that matters!" Eve shouted. "I just want to TALK to you, Villanelle, about EVERYTHING! Like, all the fucking time! What I'm thinking. What I'm doing. How I'm feeling. Just, all of it, fucking, fucking all of it, and you just - you shut everything down, and you threaten me, and you jerk me around, and you hurt me, you hurt me, you just keep hurting me - and - and yet, I still - I still just - I still just want you to -"

"I know," Villanelle said softly.

Eve wanted to cry at the sound. She swiped at her eyes violently with the back of her hand and chugged another gulp of champagne.

Villanelle gestured to the bottle in Eve's hand. "Is that to help you make bad decisions?" 

"Ah." Eve sucked on the bottle lip. "I guess so."

Villanelle gestured again. "Feel like sharing?" 

"Oh, oh, sure! By all means! Here, take it." Eve held the bottle out at arms length. Villanelle reached out cautiously, tugged it from Eve's grasp, and stepped away. Eve reached into her hand bag and pulled out her other bottle, uncorked it with her teeth, and took a swig.

"I see you came prepared." Villanelle placed her bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, most definitely," said Eve. She finished another long swallow, savouring the burn in her throat. "Now. Go on, ask me. Ask me! Ask me how I found this place. I want to tell you."

"Well, you do live just across the street," Villanelle pointed out. 

"One more time. Ask me how the FUCK I found your flat." 

"How did you find my flat, Eve?" Villanelle obliged. 

"Thank you so much for asking! I'm so glad you asked!" Eve mock bowed. "You see, I installed a GPS tracker in a pot lid - had to unscrew the handle, really squeeze it in there - you know what it's like with those trackers, they've gotten pretty small but they're not THAT small - I mean, you know what I mean, right? You're in the business." Eve paused, waiting for Villanelle to nod along before continuing. 

"Had shipped it to my office, because who knows what you were up to, and if you'd be swiping my mail and checking my packages, which, wouldn't you know it, was the right idea after all? Seeing as how you literally can see my front door! Right! From! Your! Window!" Eve paused again. "Right?"

Villanelle inclined her head. "Right idea, Eve."

"Thank you! Thank you so very much, Villanelle! I'm so glad you agree! And, see, here's the thing - I thought it was broken, at first. I thought the thing broke halfway down the block. I mean, it stopped, right there, just right there -" Eve pointed at an invisible computer monitor in front of her. "It couldn't be right, could it? But then, the next day, you've returned my pot - you clean so thoroughly, it's so considerate of you, really - and guess where the fucking GPS dot has moved to? My fucking door step! Who would have thought?"

"Who would have thought," Villanelle echoed.

"And, and, and, do you know why I put it in the pot lid?"

"Because ... it's the only place you could have planted it?"

"Because it's the only place I could've planted it!" Eve crowed. "Because, for some insane reason, your version of takeaway involves taking the whole pot! You are SO weird, Villanelle! Who even does that? Which brings me to something else. Ask me how I got into your flat." 

"How did you get into my flat?"

"With these -" Eve jerked a heavy set of skeleton keys from her handbag and shook them briefly, before shoving them back in. "Which you left at my place, along with an entire locksmith's toolbox. How about that?" 

"Ah, I did not mean to leave those there. I should have returned them to the locksmith. How very rude of me."

"Really, now?" Eve's eyes narrowed. "You DIDN'T mean to leave a whole set of locksmith tools in my kitchen, after coming to fix my lock, after being the one to break my lock in the first place?"

"Uh ... no?" 

"You DIDN'T make off with my kitchenware, day after day, just so that I could eventually plant a tracker on you and see where you actually live, not even thirty seconds walk from my front door, just to see the look on my stupid face?!"

"No, Eve, no, I didn't -" Villanelle broke off the sentence and tossed her hat over her shoulder. She opened her arms, looking helpless. "I didn't plan any of this."

"Liar! You lying, lying, liar!" Eve screamed. "You were following me! You were popping up everywhere! You were stalking me! Just to find ways to torment me!"

"No, I -"

"And then, when you got sick of showing up my house -" Eve balled a fist to her mouth. "You went and got in touch with my husband?"

"Ex-husband," Villanelle corrected, eyes narrowing. 

"Ex-husband," Eve repeated. "What was that, huh? A threat? A warning?"

"I told you," Villanelle sounded impatient now. "I thought you'd be lonely. You could talk to him and feel less lonely."

"No, Villanelle, try again, with the real reason this time," Eve sighed. "Did I piss you off or something? Did I do something wrong? I just kept thinking about it, and thinking about it - was the sight of me getting off that horrifying to you? So badly that you had to threaten Niko? "

"I think I have no idea what you are talking about," Villanelle said. 

"He really didn't deserve any of this, you know?" Eve rubbed her forehead. "You, showing up in our house, showing up in our lives, and me being all - all -" 

"You being all what?" Villanelle asked tersely.

"Unfair," Eve mumbled. "To him. Over you." 

"Ah, right, I remember!" Villanelle clapped a fist to her palm. "It's all my fault, right? You losing your job and husband? Not because of your own actions and choices, no no, not at all."

"Do you know you made me feel like I couldn't love him anymore?" Eve's voice cracked. "Because you go after people that we love, and you hurt them, just because we love them -"

"Oh, Eve, do you know how self-important you sound?" Villanelle whispered. "You should really work on controlling that ego of yours." 

"What even am I to you, then?" Eve cried. "Why don't you tell me exactly what the fuck is going on in that fucked up brain of yours? Huh? What do you even want from me?" 

Villanelle smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "Please, would you stop shouting."

"Ask me why I'm shouting, Villanelle," Eve shouted. "Ask me why the fuck I'm screaming at the top of my lungs like a crazy person."

"Why are you shouting, Eve," Villanelle said angrily. 

"You break into my house, you assault me, you, you, you, you RAPE me," Eve screamed. "And then you came back, for more, and more, and suddenly - instead - you were kinder, and warmer, and -"

"Was I?" Villanelle said, voice thick. "Was I actually nice to you?"

Was she? Had she been? Eve's head was swirling. 

"You stopped hurting me," Eve insisted. "And you kept coming back, all this time, while living - right - HERE?" Eve's voice spiked incredulously on the last word. "In this shitty, empty flat? In shitty, shithole Birmingham!? What the FUCK happened to you, Villanelle?!"

"Birmingham is a PERFECTLY fine city," Villanelle hissed through gritted teeth.

"You were, so, so cool!" Eve cried. "You were sexy! You were stylish! You were playful! You had so much flare, so much confidence, so much joy in every horrible thing you did! You had everything! Nice clothes! Nice wardrobe! Nice place to live! A fridge just for champagne - do you know how fucking excessive that is? A fridge just for champagne? And now?"

Eve waved her hands around the flat. "There's nothing here! It's completely empty! You live in a pathetic little apartment, with no personality or value, across the street from ME -" Eve pointed at herself, "who STABBED you, and you get off on face fucking me, and you eat the food I cook for you, and you keep coming back, and then you disappear, and I just want to know, why, why, why, why, WHY? WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" 

Eve's shriek reverberated through the room. She clutched her chest, catching her breath. All that screaming had been pretty tiring. 

Villanelle's face was stiff, but her eyes were wide and glistening. She licked her lips. "Eve, I didn't mean - I didn't intend for -"

"Oh, stop with your bullshit already," Eve snarled. "Stop with your transparent, miserable attempts to make your face all beautiful and sad and wobbly and shit, you fucking crazy psychopath."

Villanelle looked at the ground.

She inhaled, and nodded once, twice, three times to herself.

She looked at Eve, then, one corner of her mouth twisting towards her eyes.

Villanelle spoke at last. "Okay, Eve. I will tell you."

Villanelle pulled a cel phone out of her pocket and started dialing.

"Oh, who the FUCK could you be calling right now-"

Villanelle held a hand up, shushing Eve.

Fucking unbelievable, Eve thought. 

"Oh, hey there, it's me." Villanelle slipped into her local accent. "I'm so sorry but it looks like I won't be able to finish up the rest of my shift, I'm really so terribly sorry... yes, yes, thank you so much, I'll be sure to let her know." Villanelle hung up. "My colleague says he hopes you're feeling okay. I told him I had to take the day off because my friend was vomiting blood everywhere, so he was concerned."

"What the -"

Villanelle held up her hand again, calling another number. "Oh, hey there, it's me. I'm terribly sorry, but something's come up, and I won't be able to make it in for my shift today. I'm so, so sorry for the short notice, my friend is vomiting blood everywhere and it's not stopping, I have to take her to the hospital. I'm so sorry, ta now."

Eve rolled her eyes. 

"Wait, just give me -" Villanelle tapped out a short text on her phone. "- and send. Done." She tossed the phone, clattering, onto the kitchen counter. "Now I am free for the rest of the day." 

Eve tapped her foot, her hands on her hips. "Well?" 

"You have many questions for me, Eve," Villanelle said calmly. "I don't blame you."

Eve waited. 

"I will answer just one question for you - why I am here," Villanelle declared. "Because once I answer - if I am able to answer, successfully - then none of the other questions will matter any more." Villanelle pulled her knife out to her side and flicked it open. "Eve, I came here to kill you."

Eve's eyes dropped to the knife.

"For various reasons I have been unable to do so. But now, right now - in this moment, like this -" Villanelle looked at Eve calculatingly, with cold determination in her eyes. "I think I can."

Eve stared back. "You can't. You won't."

"I can." Villanelle tilted her head. "Are you ready?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to make the proverbial shit hit the fan! 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve fights for her life, and then doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters here; the delay in updates was so that they could be released together. Apologies for the lack of response to everyone's comments as well, I really wanted to get these out asap.

They always said that your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. 

_Nico, concerned, in their living room. "Is it safe?"_

_Bill, happy, holding a baby. "I'm going to die, aren't I? Daddy's going to die, isn't he?"_

_Carolyn, stern, on a street in London. "Your actions are your own. What do you want to do?"_

_Elena, terrified, in a car. "You can do whatever it is you want to do with her, but right now, stop being a dick, Eve!"_

_Nico, terrified, in the rec centre. "You, alive, at home - without scary ladies breaking into our house - makes me feel better!"_

_Konstantin, being completely honest with her. "If I told you, I would really have to kill you, you know? I really would!"_

_And, Eve, to Konstantin. To the danger. To the self-destruction. "Okay."_

_There was a crack in the glass -_

\- she must smash it.

_There was a knife in her hand -_

\- she must use it. 

Even if she was the glass.

Even if the knife was turned on her. 

===

And so.

All Eve's choices had led her, time and again - even when there had been a whole world of alternate paths open to her - into the mouth of danger, into the arms of death. And here death stood, in the form of Villanelle. 

Maybe Eve could buy some time. 

What else could she do? What did she have to lose? 

"I'm not ready. I want answers." 

"Everyone does, in the end." Villanelle's face was a mockery of compassion. "'What did it all mean? What was it all for? Why must this happen to me?' You're not special, Eve." 

"I have more specific questions than that. Why do you want me dead? More to the point, why now? After everything we've - after all this time - after we've - are you mad that I called you a psychopath? I can take it back. You're not a psychopath! I apologise. That was inappropriate of me." 

Villanelle loosened her neck, stretching it from side to side. "You are right, you know. This is a shitty apartment. I will kill you, finish the job, get back to my old life. I've wasted enough time." 

Job? Was that a slip of the tongue, or had someone sent her to -

Villanelle raised her knife.

"Is this what you want?" Eve's voice sounded high and reedy to her ears. "Is this what you really want?" 

Villanelle bared her teeth. "I want you dead." She took a step.

"Wait, wait wait wait - at least just give me a -" Eve reached into her handbag and pulled out her knife, holding it out with a trembling hand. 

Villanelle snorted derisively. "You brought a meat cleaver to a knife fight." 

Eve grimaced. "Mine's bigger."   
   
"You know what they say about size," Villanelle chided.

"It's the only thing that matters, right?" 

"I really will miss you, Eve." Her voice was completely sincere. Her face was anything but.

They were motionless. Then the bottle of champagne in Eve's hand was launched into the air. Unimpressed, Villanelle gracefully stepped sideways and forward, and the bottle crashed uselessly to the floor behind her. 

Eve, inspired by countless kung fu movies she had seen, whirled the meat cleaver around in front of her like a mad woman. Of course those damn movies, having disappointed her over the course of her entire life with how kung fu wasn't for real, would come back to disappoint her right now in these final moments one more time. 

Now Villanelle paused, an amused smirk dancing across her features. But Eve noticed the way her neck muscles rippled and tensed, the way that Villanelle swallowed.

Maybe Eve still had a chance. 

Maybe that was just one more lie Eve was trying to comfort herself with before the end. 

Behind Villanelle was the door. That way lay freedom. Behind Eve was a window. A closed window, four floors from the ground. 

Between freedom and Eve was Villanelle, and a meat cleaver doing an imitation of a windmill in a tornado. 

"You're going to hurt someone with that thing," Villanelle said. 

"That's kind of the point."

Faster than a snake, Villanelle's knife arm whipped out. Eve's meat cleaver flew sideways and clattered to the ground. 

So much for that.

But Villanelle didn't advance. Instead, she leaned back and nodded her head at Eve's knife. "Well. Go on, then." 

Eve couldn't even form words, her heart hammering at supersonic speeds, faster than it had ever gone; any faster and it would jump out of her chest. Any faster and she would faint from the pressure.

"Pick it up."

Eve still didn't comprehend.

"Pick up the knife, Eve. Let's keep this just a little bit interesting."

Eve forced her limbs to move, one by one, until she was close enough to bend over and retrieve the knife. Her wrist was still numb from the direction the knife had flown.

But she was by the wall now, at a diagonal to the door. Maybe if she tried to go low, circle wide around the other woman, avoid her arms, take a straight line to the -

"If all you're going to do is just stand there, I won't be very scared of you now, will I?"  
   
Eve was being toyed with. There was no way out. 

Eve thought of all the people she'd ever known and met. Could she face them, if she just gave up now? Could she go back and time and tell her parents, sorry, you should never have bothered, because if you knew where your daughter would end up, like this, in the end, it wouldn't have been worth it?

She hadn't ever wanted to do this, ever, ever again. 

Where would be the best place to aim? Same place as last? She hadn't brought a piercing weapon. She wouldn't be able to stab. Maybe her subconsciousness had made the choice for her. 

"I see you are thinking. You are thinking so hard. If you are thinking about screaming for help, there aren't a lot of people here at this hour."

Maybe Eve could take out Villanelle's limbs. Nick her in the wrist, or an elbow, or an ankle, loosen a tendon, disconnect some cartilage.

Could she reach?

Would it work? 

How fast could Villanelle move with a single wound? She'd escaped Eve in Paris with a bleeding hole in her stomach, disappeared from view, for all intents and purposes just a regular human but with abilities and mysterious support that manifested in Villanelle like superpowers.

"Also, if anyone comes, I'll just kill them, so, it's up to you what you want to do next."  

Where else?

Across Villanelle's chest, red blooming from a long thin line across her breasts -

Across Villanelle's neck, blood gashing from a gaping neck, staining red the face that Eve loved so much -

Could she make it?

Could she do it?

"Eve," Villanelle purred. "Are you ready?"

Eve gritted her teeth, raised her knife. Then she charged.

===

Eve lost track of time. 

Villanelle was fast. Villanelle was precise. 

Eve could not reach. Eve could not get around. 

Villanelle would stop her. Villanelle would block her. 

The knife would go flying. Villanelle would wait. Eve would pick it up. On and on it went, again and again and again. 

A criss-cross web of red ribbons and dents had blossomed on Eve's hands and forearms, slowly increasing in number as Villanelle sliced away at Eve's efforts and Eve's spirit. Eve was lucky she hadn't lost a finger yet.

The knife flew truer from Eve's hands now, as the blade became too slippery to handle, covered in her blood. Villanelle's knife, too was covered in Eve's blood.

Only Villanelle remained spotless and clean, her eyes growing brighter and wider. 

Eve's breath grew faster and shallower. 

Is this how she was going to go? Toyed with, batted around like a mouse in a cage by a dazzling, demonic mountain lion? At this rate, Eve would bleed to death from before Villanelle decided she was bored and ended it. 

If she turned around, she'd have maybe three, maybe seconds to pry open the window before Villanelle could reach her back and slice it open. Maybe Eve would land feet-first, crushing her legs and spine, with a giant gash on her back. If she survived, someone might see her, call for help. Villanelle might run down the stairs and finish the job before someone did.

Maybe she could charge straight at Villanelle, bowl the woman over with the momentum of her body, end up atop Villanelle with a knife in her gut. 

Maybe Villanelle would still change her mind.

The number of available options before her were dwindling.

Her mistake had been thinking she'd had any options to begin with.

===

Eve was tired. So, so tired.

This wasn't how she wanted to go. Defeated. Numb. Powerless.

If she had no say over whether or not she lived or died, she at least had power over how she went. 

She could end it herself, maybe. How many people had ended themselves in front of Villanelle to escape death by her hand? So as to not to give her the pleasure? Or to spare her the burden? 

There was no way forward. There was no way back. There was just here, between these walls, in the heart of this empty room, just here, and her, with Villanelle. 

Eve didn't want her last moments to be filled with fear, and resentment, and blame, and loathing, and hatred, and confusion. 

Eve saw clearly now. And she would choose it, of her own will. She chose clarity, and acceptance, and love. 

There was only surrender.

Eve let the knife slip from her fingers. It clattered loudly to the floor. 

"I'm done." 

Villanelle, who had been idly observing her, now snapped to attention. 

"I'm done," Eve repeated. She opened her arms. "I give up. You win. Go ahead. End it. I'm letting you. I want you to." 

"You want me to," Villanelle repeated. "Eve, there's no fun in killing someone suicidal."

"Then don't think of it as me being suicidal," Eve shrugged. "Think of it as me picking the best path out of a very limited number of choices."

"Best? I can think of at least three more options you could take other than giving up, and all of them involve trying a little harder to kill me."

"I don't want to kill you." 

"Strange, Eve. Very strange! I can give you some incentive. Guess who I'm going after once you're dead?" 

Eve heaved a sigh. "I'm not playing your games anymore. I'm not here for - whatever this is -" she gestured at the two of them, "- that you're trying to force."

"Niko, Eve, I'm going to kill Niko," Villanelle said in a sing-song voice. "I'll kill the people you work with. I'll kill everyone you've ever talked to." 

Eve chuckled sadly. "Yeah, Villanelle. Maybe you will. Maybe you won't. I don't know why, or what you want from me. Maybe you don't even know. But I can't do anything about what you do, though. I can't - I can't stop you. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. I can't stop you from doing anything you've set your mind on doing. So I'm not going to try anymore."

Villanelle didn't seem to have any response to that.

"Can I just - I just want to say something nice right now? I want the last thing I say to be something nice," Eve said. "I mean, as long as you're still over there, not killing me and all. Feel free to shut me up by stabbing me right here, or whatever."

Villanelle hefted her knife. 

Eve took a deep breath. "I really like you. Like, so much. You have no idea for how long I've liked you. Even before we met, I knew who you were, and I liked you. I was a huge fan, did you know?" 

Villanelle looked torn between wanting to quiet her forever, and wanting to hear her out. 

"Well, I was a huge fan, until - my friend. My partner. What you did to him. I - I couldn't be a fan anymore after that. It was too personal. I loved him. More than anyone. More than Niko, even." It was sort of true, at least, and maybe would deflect the giant target off Niko's back a little. It was the last and only thing she could do. "But you must have picked up on that. That's why you killed him.

"I was so mad at you, you know? I swore I'd kill you, after that. But then you appeared in front of me, and it was like - wow."

"Wow," Villanelle echoed, voice emotionless.

"I was supposed to want you dead, but instead, I just - I just wanted to know more about you. Even though I hated you. Even though you scared the shit out of me. Do you remember what I said to you, back in Paris? I don't know if you remember it, and maybe you don't believe me after what happened. And maybe you don't believe me now, but every word of I said back then was true. And it still is, even right now."

Villanelle pressed her lips together, in a smile of disbelief. 

"I'm not - I'm not really afraid of dying." Eve marveled at how easy it was to tell the truth. "What I'm afraid of is - not knowing. Never really figuring you out, and never having the chance to." 

"I've heard enough," Villanelle interrupted. "Do me a favour, pick up that knife, and carve a hole in yourself right here for me, hm?" Villanelle fingered her pulse at the junction of her neck and chin.

Eve closed her eyes. "No. You do it." 

"I really think you'd prefer to do it yourself. Things can get quite messy and painful when I do it." 

"I'm not killing myself for you. If you want me dead, you're going to have to do it yourself." Eve lifted her chin wearily. "If you're still too afraid to kill me, just let me go."

"I am not afraid." Villanelle's fingers tightened around her knife. "I am not afraid of you."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Eve gestured at her body. "You can do it right here, see, right where I got you -" she pointed at her gut. "You can do it right here." She pointed at her neck. "Nice and slow and painful. You said that before, right? How much it hurts when you do it slowly?"

"That is a very strange way of trying to talk me out it."

"No," Eve smiled shakily. "I'm done talking. I just want to love something before I die. I love you, Villanelle. I love you."

Villanelle roared and flew towards Eve, knife aimed at Eve's gut. Eve stood her ground, tensing her body, waiting for the blade to enter her. 

The blow instead came at Eve's upper body, in the form of Villanelle's outstretched palm shoving at her neck; Eve's head snapped backwards, making her lose balance, and she involuntarily took a step backwards, falling to the side. The momentum carried Villanelle with her and they half-tumbled, half-marched in a messy tango, slamming together into the wall.

Here they were again, Eve thought, pinned with her back to the wall, and Villanelle threatening to end her.

The knife was painful, decisive, authoritative, against her stomach. "Do it. I'm ready now."

"I'm going to make this hurt so badly," Villanelle whispered.

"I love you," Eve gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh god, do it already, before I freak out, before I piss myself, before I completely lose my mind -"

She reached out, blindly, her blood-slickened hands grasping for Villanelle's wrist, trying to push the knife into her own stomach to hasten her end. 

Her mind was empty. Her heart was full.

There was a sucking wrenching noise, a slippery pop, and an empty space.

Villanelle's hand had slipped jerkily through hers, away from her flesh, away from her. 

Eve's eyes darted open, her breath jittery. Her brain panicked, struggled to make sense of what she'd prepared for but hadn't happened.

Villanelle had backed away from Eve entirely, and was pacing erratically in agitated, broken circles. 

"Stop - stop fucking around, Villanelle," Eve gasped, "I can't take it anymore, I can't take this anymore - why won't you kill me? You said you wanted this, why can't you just kill me already?" 

Villanelle began muttering. "I can kill you. I can kill you." 

Eve sagged to the floor, her legs limp as noodles, flopping out in front of her. All she could do was watch, slumped against the wall, in muted awe, and a murky growing suspicion, as Villanelle stalked back and forth like a haunted, caged tiger. 

A thread in her mind, there since the beginning but long hidden from view under all the other tangles, slipped out gently.

Eve tried the words out, just to see what they sounded like. "You can't kill me."

"I can. I can, I can, I can."

There was no energy left in Eve's body. She didn't even have anything left in her to feel surprise. "You can't kill me," she tried again. "You can't kill me."

"I can! I can I can I can!" Villanelle was practically stomping her feet now, like a child, having a tantrum.

"You can't kill me. You can't kill -"

Eve tried the words that were so impossible and made no sense at all, and yet were the only ones that fit.

"You can't kill anyone."

"I CAN," Villanelle screamed. "I CAN, I CAN, I CAN, I CAN -"

She swooped Eve's meat cleaver from the ground in one swift motion, and for a sickening moment Eve thought Villanelle was going to hurl it at Eve's head. Instead, she spun around and launched herself at the wall behind her.

"I CAN, I CAN, I CAN!" One-two-three ugly, angry slashes on the wall punctuated every scream, like the claw marks of a savage raging beast.

"I CAN, I CAN, I CAN!" One-two-three. 

"I CAN, I CAN, I CAN!" One-two-three. 

Eve could only stare, holding her breath, as the empty, off-white wall grew with jagged claw markings, and Villanelle slashed and slashed and slashed, and slashed and slashed and slashed, and slashed and slashed and slashed. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve and Villanelle have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT!
> 
> The one where I try to answer everything.  
> The one where people decide if they guessed everything right all along, or if this was a total waste of their time, or if it all made perfect sense, or it made no sense whatsoever.
> 
> EITHER WAY! Thank you so much for reading so far.

Eve remained still, holding her breath, just watching, staying put. No matter whether she had been right or wrong, getting within range of - whatever the hell was happening to Villanelle - was not a wise decision. She felt strangely calm, untouchable even, like she was watching a thunderstorm through a window. She still didn't want to get struck by an errant bolt of lightning, though. 

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Villanelle's blows slowed, became irregular, starting and stuttering, and then, finally, came to a complete stop. The knife clattered from her hand. She leaned against the half-demolished wall, chest heaving. Then she turned around, sagged against the wall, and sank to the floor.

She looked as utterly drained as Eve felt. 

They sat there, mirrors of each other, on opposite sides of the room, simply watching.

Eve cleared her throat.

"I don't want to talk about it," Villanelle said sullenly.

Eve mimed zipping her lips.

There was more silence.

Eve coughed.

"I said -"

"I need to pee," Eve said quickly. "Is it okay if I -" She nodded at the bathroom door.

Villanelle waved her towards the door with an exaggerated flourish, then dropped her hand to the ground. "Be my guest." 

Eve rose gingerly, limping. Her whole body was an aching pile of meat and bones. She felt way too old for this shit.

"Keep the door open," Villanelle called.

"I'm not going to try to - I mean, I really just need to - it's not like there are windows in here -"

"Just let me hear you tinkle, okay?"

"God, you are SO - can you NOT - oh, forget it." Eve sagged down on the toilet, obediently leaving the door open, and let it all out. With it, drops of tension began to drain from her body.

Cleaning up afterwards was a painful affair, but she somehow managed, ignoring the blood all over her pants and hissing whenever water touched her wounds. She gave them a quick once over. At least she wasn't going to bleed to death from them.

Grabbing a pair of clean-looking towels from the rack, she re-emerged, and waved them at Villanelle to show they were all she had removed. The safest, and most comfortable choice for the time being seemed to be taking a spot on the mattress on the floor, a few feet from where she had been sitting before, so she slowly made her way there. Once seated, she started wrapping the towels around her hands, keeping her eyes trained on Villanelle. 

It was taking Eve all of her willpower not to ask every single question on her mind right now. For her part, Villanelle was deliberately ignoring the intense gaze Eve was shooting her way. 

Eventually Villanelle stared at the ceiling and sighed. "Your staring is making me deeply uncomfortable. Go ahead. Ask. Get it out of your system."

"So are you just, like, unable to kill anyone right now? Is it just me? Did you grow a conscience or something? Oh my god - are you so in love with me that can't bring yourself to kill me? That's gotta be it."

Villanelle buried her face in her hands and groaned. "Keep this up, and you might actually make me finish the job."

"Job," Eve repeated. It was weird how easy it was to talk about an attempt on her life, like it was happening to someone else. "Were you sent to kill me?"

Villanelle expelled a long, audible breath. Finally, she lifted her face from her hands reluctantly. "Romsky Polonoff."

Eve blinked. The name was familiar. She wracked her brains, and finally stumbled on it. The name had come up on one of her many, many searches for outstanding or significant. A venture capitalist, he had died a few months ago in Holland, in a car-on-pedestrian collision. It had been ruled vehicular manslaughter. "What about him? Did he send you to kill me?"

Villanelle's jaw was working. "Johnathan Novack. Ivann Deppli."

Software engineer in Spain; mugged and fatally injured from blunt head trauma. Pharmaceutical company CEO; another fatal car crash from faulty brakes. Both had happened months ago.

"Are you telling me you killed those guys?" Eve scoffed. "Come off it. None of those were you."

"You seem very confident for someone who wasn't there."

"Hitting someone with a car? Cutting someone's brakes? Whacking someone in the head with a steel pole? That's not your style," Eve argued. "You go for discreet, intimate. You like to be right up close to your victim, right there at the end. Yet, in plain sight, just barely on the edge of people's vision, so all someone would have to do is just turn their head slightly so - and there you'd be. You want to be seen. You like being seen." Eve noticed the way Villanelle was looking at her, slightly dumbfounded. "What?"

"You just seem to be having an inappropriately disproportionate amount of fun considering what just happened in this room."

"Are you joking? I'm fucking ecstatic. I'm alive, I'm not being killed, you're not killing me, I'm not dead yet, we're still talking -"

"Yeah, I get the picture. I meant, just - the look on your face just now. When you were talking about me. You really are quite an obsessed fan. It's just - it's so -"

"Flattering?"

"Disconcerting. It explains why you keep accusing me of being obsessed with you. You're just projecting your obsession onto me." 

Eve rolled her eyes. "Okay, for the purposes of this conversation, let's pretend you don't have a giant crush on me so we can just move on." 

"It's really like you've forgotten to be scared of me," Villanelle said in amazement. 

"Oh, no, you're still really scary," Eve raised her hands. "I'm terrified. Wooooo."

"Please keep doing that. I'm serious, I really think it's helping. My urge to kill is rising as we speak." 

Eve relented. "So those three men. Why are they significant?"

Villanelle sighed, relenting as well. "It was meant to have been me. All three of them."

"Meant to have been - you mean -" Eve's eyes widened. "Someone else killed them. Someone else finished the job. Because you didn't? Because you - couldn't?"

Villanelle closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the wall, like it was painful to hear Eve say the words. "The doctors - there are doctors - they screen us, for - you know, competencies," she waved her hand vaguely, "they refused to sign me off on any more jobs after my last failure."

"But what do you mean, you couldn't kill them?" Eve pressed. "Did you - miss? Was something - someone - getting in your way? Or you - you just couldn't pull the trigger, or stab the knife, and finish the job?"

Villanelle's eyes were still closed. "I can still picture them in my head. Every single one of their bodies, dead by my hand, exactly the way I planned it. I went through with it, each time, every single step of the way, and yet, at the final moment - the most crucial moment - every time, I just - I just - didn't." 

"Did you freeze? Like you got stage fright? Performance anxiety? The yips?" Eve shook her head. "But is that even possible? Can you even get scared? Are you even capable of feeling fear? You're not supposed to be able to -"

"You would get along well with my doctors." Villanelle opened her eyes to glare at Eve. "Always saying this and that, so certain of themselves. As if just because they have read a bunch of books and have fancy letters after their name they think they know everything about me."

Eve felt oddly chastened.

"Like I am just some puzzle they can solve with the right equations. A plus B plus C equals psychopath, and psychopath equals D plus E plus F. As if it's that simple. As if people are that simple."  

"Okay, right. Sorry," Eve said, before realising that she would lose no moral high ground by failing to apologise to a murderer. "So is it like you have a conscience now or something? If you do, it seems to be manifesting itself very strangely -" she saw the insulted look on Villanelle's face. "Okay, okay, no conscience, my mistake, how ridiculous me to even suggest it. Very rude of me. So what the hell happened to you, anyway?"

Villanelle's laugh was a short bark. "That's an ironic question, coming from you."

"What? Why? Is this - is this - is this my fault?" A warm feeling of perverse pleasure blossomed in her stomach. "Is this because of what I did to you? I - I did this to you?"

Villanelle glared at her. "Yes, by all means, do keep looking so proud of yourself. The smug look on your face is especially effective."

"So is that why they sent you to kill me? They thought it would - fix things?" 

"They didn't send me. The doctors refused to clear me for any work. They didn't think I was capable. In the end they were right, I suppose." Villanelle chuckled, then shook her head. "I was told to take a break."

"A break? From contract killing?" Eve frowned. "How does that work?"

Villanelle shrugged. "You sit around at home in your underwear, doing nothing, eating frozen pizza, waiting for them to call again, and you're not getting paid. Meanwhile, life is boring, your skin gets bad, and you still have to pay for rent and frozen pizza. And your boxes are still unpacked from when you had to move because some crazy person trashed your last apartment because you have no money to buy furniture." 

Eve filed that last bit away for later. "So, someone paid you to kill me, then?"

"Hah. No one would pay to kill you, Eve. You're boring. No one cares if you live or die. Except me, apparently." 

That stung, just a little. "So you were here to kill me just because you felt like it? Because you wanted to?" Eve swallowed. "Do you still want to?"

"I don't - I don't know. I haven't wanted to, for a while now. Today was - different."

"What changed?"

"I don't know. Just the way you looked at me, I guess." Villanelle didn't elaborate further. "At the time it just made sense. it started with you, so maybe I could end it with you. Get it out of my system. I wanted an excuse to come after you, anyway I was pretty angry. As you can imagine." Villanelle's eyes bored into her. "I kept picturing your face, broken beneath my boots, your body a complete mess, your bones, just, battered to splinters, and all your guts and organs hanging out of your stomach after -"

"Okay! You definitely do not have a problem with violent imagery," Eve said hastily. "And you were very angry. Got it. Let's move on."

"So I asked for a chance to prove that I could still kill for them. Kill you, finish the job, get signed off for my next one. And they agreed. No loss to them, anyway." 

"But - your employers still considered you useful? Instead of - expendable?" 

Villanelle's smile was dazzling. "I represent a significant investment for them. I'd have to be actively trying to take them down for them to want to take me out. I'm their best, you see." 

"One of their best, you mean," Eve corrected. "There are probably tons like you, right?"

Villanelle shrugged. "Who knows. I don't know any more than you do at this point. But I would still be the best, I'm sure." 

Eve let it go. "So, you coming here after me was just, what, then? A personal side project you took on while you were on unpaid leave, essentially?"

"You could say that. Just me on my own, operating with approval from the people I work for." 

"But not getting paid for it." Eve looked around. "Is that why you live here in this hovel? All you could afford?" 

"I burnt through all my savings getting into the country, tracking you down," Villanelle grumbled. "First I have to get here, so that's at least one train ticket. Then I have to not get caught, so that's some palm-greasing. Then I get to London, and you're not in London. Then I find your husband, and you're not with your husband. Then you're in Birmingham, and suddenly I'm broke. I could have just gotten it over with, gone straight to you, but - I - I was - I needed to -"

"You were trying to psych yourself up to kill me?" Eve suggested.

"It took me longer than I had planned," Villanelle said stiffly. That was certainly one way to put it.

"And so you just kept trying, and trying, until - what?"

"Something changed. I - don't know what. You started making dinner." 

"It was NOT the free food that changed your mind," Eve groaned. 

"I'm not going to turn down free food," Villanelle said patiently, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I have to save where I can."

Eve glared. 

Villanelle looked down. "No, it wasn't. But I'm not ready to talk about it yet." 

"Fine. Maybe you should have killed a financial adviser at least once," Eve mused. "You might have picked up some useful money management skills." 

"Money's useless if you're not using it. If you need more, just work for it." 

"Seriously, I really think you should take some financial planning classes," Eve said, and then wondered why she was even bothering. "You can't just find work just when you want it, you know. It's not like there are a ton of jobs right now in this economy."

"Why not? I picked up a few just in this area."

Eve stared. "You picked up A FEW? HOW?"

"What, like it's hard?" Villanelle shrugged. "People always need something or want something. Find out what it is, give it to them, and then you can get what you want from them."

Not for the first time, Eve wondered if Villanelle would have become president of the world by now if she hadn't been an assassin. "Why didn't you just, you know, get a proper job? In an office or something?"

"Do I strike you as sort of person that can work in an office?" Villanelle exclaimed. "Without trying to murder anyone?"

"Could have solved your problem," Eve pointed out. "Without having to kill me."

Villanelle actually chuckled. "I liked having freedom. Shifts, here and there. You know, so I could have free time to stalk you and everything. You are amazingly callous when it comes to other people's lives, though." 

"I was joking." Villanelle looked like she didn't believe her. "Anyway, aren't you under some kind of protection? Couldn't they just forge some documents for you? Fake university degrees, a few fake references for your CV, that sort of thing." 

Villanelle pursed her lips. "Like I said, I don't really know who pulls the strings, especially here. I have no contacts in this area. No handler is in communication with me. Whenever I operate, I have to assume that I'm on my own, and can only hope that if something goes completely off the rails that someone will clean up after me. They have always come through so far. I'll be the first one to know when they don't." 

Eve thought about what Villanelle had just said. If this true, it was a risky and uncertain way to live. No wonder Villanelle was drawn to it. 

Eve suddenly remembered something. "So this is going to sound weird, but do you work at the co-op grocery store around the block?"

Villanelle started counting on her fingers. "The co-op, the bakery, the fried chicken place, the pizza place, the other fried chicken place -" 

"So it WAS you?! I thought I'd seen you there, so many times, and always thought I'd just imagined it. Jesus, have you just been working at every other store in the neighbourhood right under my nose? How have I never caught you? I was looking for you everywhere!"

"Oh, I just told everyone I work with that you're a crazy woman trying to stalk me, and you were so incessant that you even moved right across the street from me, and I didn't have anywhere else to go because I couldn't afford it. So they would always let me know whenever you saw me coming and warn me."

"I can't - I can't even -" Eve lowered her face to her knees. "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Have I been walking around this neighbourhood with everyone thinking I'm some kind of obsessive stalker going after a woman nearly half my age?"

"It's pretty accurate. You did break into my flat, for starters," Villanelle pointed out. 

"I'm going to kill you," Eve breathed. "Wait, first I'm going to get all the answers out of you, then I'm going to kill you. Why the fuck would you tell people that?!"

"You kept trying to find me, and I didn't want you to make it difficult for me at work," Villanelle exclaimed. "You nearly got me arrested after that stunt at Sam's Fried Chicken, you know."

"You can't blame me for trying to find you! You were the one that just showed up at my fried chicken place! Right after - that first time - that you -"

"No, YOU just showed up there, I was just working my shift as usual - well -"

"You HAD to have known that I would find you there, I mean, how long had you been stalking me before that, you must have known my routine -"

"Yes, of course you were supposed to run into me, but EVENTUALLY, not right after I - after the - sorry. Look. I'm sorry, Eve."

The world ground to a halt.

The words were so unexpected that for a moment Eve thought she'd heard incorrectly, even as they sent her stomach flying into her throat. Of all the things she had come here for, she had not expected an apology for anything. 

There was silence as Villanelle waited for Eve to respond.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," Eve finally managed.

"You know what I'm talking about. I'm -" Villanelle stopped, hesitating. "I don't know how to apologise, and I don't know if I ever can. I just know I have to. I'm sorry, Eve. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Eve was suddenly jerked back to that first night, her terrified on the floor, Villanelle looming above her, her face chilling, unreadable - 

"Why did you do it?" Eve said abruptly. "Why? Why did you have to - why didn't you just try to kill me?"

Villanelle looked away, chewing her lip, then met Eve's eyes again, as if forcing herself to maintain eye contact. "I did try. That's what I was there to do. That night, and after that. I went there to kill you." 

"And you couldn't? So instead, you -"

"I wanted you to touch me. Before I killed you. That's not important. That doesn't justify -" Villanelle bowed her head, and then as if remembering her intention to maintain eye contact, lifted it again. "I wanted you - I wanted from you the same thing I wanted back in Paris. But you denied me - I felt like you denied me. So I wanted to force it from you. That's not an excuse. I know. I wanted to hurt you. It was supposed to make it easier, easier to - but I still just - I'm sorry."

Eve stared at a spot on the ground. She pictured Villanelle, sitting in the empty lifeless room they were in now, hemmed in by four walls, nothing to keep her company except kill scenes on repeat in her mind, running through how many ways she would kill Eve, how it would go, where she would stab, how once it was all done Villanelle could return to her old life. 

Eve wiped her eyes. "Anything else you want to apologise for? Anything else you've done? Anyone else you've killed?"

Villanelle tapped her chin. "Uh, nope. That's kind of it it." 

Eve sighed. "Do you want me to forgive you?"

"No, of course not. My apology to you is because you are owed it, not because I want your forgiveness."

That was all Villanelle seemed to want to say on the matter.

"So? In the end, what do you think happened to you?" Eve asked. "Why can't you kill anymore?"

"No idea. All I know is, you stabbed me, my body got better, and then some part of me stopped working properly. Like it broke," Villanelle said sullenly. "Well, I was always kind of broken, but now I'm not even broken properly."

"Lucky for me, I guess." 

Villanelle laughed bitterly. "Do you prefer me like this? Neutered? Impotent? Defective?" 

"I prefer you not killing anyone, for fairly obvious reasons," Eve pointed out. 

"Really? Am I not infinitely more interesting when I'm slaughtering people across the continent, leaving a trail of bodies in my wake, and a mystery for you to solve?" 

There was a lump in Eve's throat. "I - I like whatever version of you that you are are, I guess. The you that kills. The you that doesn't. Even the you that hurts me. Even the you that tries to kill me." 

Villanelle smiled faintly. "Maybe you're the one that should see a doctor, Eve."

"Hah, maybe." Eve stretched her arms above her head. "I'm ... I'm fine, I think. I'm okay with this. I'm okay with me. I know who I am. I just ... need to make sure no one else gets hurt." 

"By me?"

"And me." 

They looked at each other, as if to say, what now? Where do we go from here?

Eve's stomach grumbled.

"Oh, hello. You again," Villanelle said. 

"Just to make things clear," Eve said slowly. "This whole killing Eve thing is off the table for now, right?" 

"Even if I said yes, could you trust me? Would you?"  

"I was really asking to find out if I could go get lunch without being stabbed in the back."

"Oh, sure. Fine. Whatever. Maybe get your hands looked at too while you're at it."

Eve looked at her hands, each bundled in a ball of towels. "I wonder what the ER nurses are going to say this time. They're starting to recognise me, you know. Sooner or later they're going to track all this down to my abusive girlfriend." 

"Wait, so are we dating now? I'm so confused." 

"I really feel like you focused on the wrong word in that sentence, though." 

"Not girlfriend?"

"Abusive," Eve sighed. 

"Can we - can we talk about us? Later?" Villanelle sounded tentative. "I still need some time to think things through. What all of this means. What any of this means." 

Eve slowly got to her feet. "I'm starting to feel like you disappeared on me not because of anything I did, but because you're a freak who has no idea what they're doing."

Villanelle started to stand as well. "I thought I told you I needed time to figure things out." 

"I thought you were deflecting," Eve said. "Are you trying to tell me that you told Niko to call me because you seriously thought I'd be lonely and wanted someone to talk to?" 

"That's what I said, wasn't it?" Villanelle frowned. "Was I not clear?" 

"Oh my god. You're - you're - I can't believe you." Eve crossed the room and threw her arms around Villanelle in a hug.

Pain exploded in her side.

They both looked down at where Villanelle had put her hands between them. One hand had still been holding a knife, which was now embedded in Eve's stomach.

"Villanelle, what the fuck -"

"Eve, oh god, I didn't mean - you were so fast, you - YOU REALLY SHOULD ASK SOMEONE BEFORE YOU TOUCH THEM -"

"I'm going to kill you," Eve mumbled, just before she fainted from the pain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I shamelessly work the title into the story kekekekeke
> 
> One more chapter! One more, I think, to tie up this part of the story.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eve and Villanelle embark on a new chapter, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mention of dick.

Eve awoke to an unfamiliar ceiling. It took a few seconds to place the hushed voices, the smell, the hums and the beeps. 

They told her that she'd been out of it for about a day and a half, nearly two. Someone had called 999 after finding her prone and bleeding in the middle of her block. No one had witnessed the mugging, but fortunately they'd only made off with her wallet. Her trusty handbag, thankfully retrieved with her when the ambulance came for her - sans champagne bottles and meat cleaver - was at her bedside table, next to a pair of small flower arrangements, one from her colleagues (with a note imploring her get better and please move to a new neighbourhood), and one from the nurses (with a note saying that while they were sure she was a perfectly nice person, they weren't very happy to see her again because a hospital ER was really the wrong place to become a regular).

Also present was a bag of her clothes and some personal items. Apparently a man had brought them by while Eve was still unconscious; when pressed, he had said he was just a friend. Eve was too woozy to figure out who it could have been; the only person that would gain access her place without being invited was probably Villanelle, but maybe Niko hadn't made it to Poland after all? 

In the end, it took her another two days before she could stay awake long enough to hold a conversation with the police officer who came to ask her some questions, giving as vague an account as possible and claiming no recollection of the attack; then another three before she could prop herself upright without wanting to instantly lie back down. Apparently the knife had avoided her organs and any major arteries; her intestines had taken the brunt of the damage, but even then she could look forward to a quick recovery, all things considered. That didn't mean it didn't hurt like a bitch, though. 

Bored and restless, Eve reached for her phone, which miraculously still somehow had not completely run out of battery.

There were the requisite annoyed, then panicked texts from coworkers, emails from clients who hadn't gotten the message, a couple of texts reminding her about missed bill payments, and a handful from "unknown number." She idly opened the first one and stopped breathing. 

_just letting you know no more special treatment for your gf from now keep her on a leash_

The next one read:

_dont get dirty thoughts god ur SUCH a dick_

Finally:

_sry ur in hospital get well soon_

Eve stared at her phone for a good five minutes, speechless. The sender hadn't bothered to disguise her familiar texting cadence.  Finally, she scrolled through her contacts list for her last known number for Elena and typed, then sent:

_Are you and Kenny fucking yet?_

It bounced back with an undeliverable error. Oh well. It had been worth a shot.

Thirty seconds later, she received a series of confusing texts from "unknown number" in quick succession.

_been too busy trying to save the world unlike SOME thirsty bastards_

_I prefer the term "making love," it sounds sweater_

_Sorry, sweeter_

_ignore those i dunno who that was_

Eve started typing very forcefully, her fingernails clicking against the glass.

_Does saving the world include leaving me at the mercy of an international assassin, for months at a time, while keeping said assassin protected?_

Bounce error, again, and no reply. Eve tried again.

_Is Carolyn still super pissed off at me?_

Still nothing. 

_Tell me I'm going to be invited to the wedding at least._

Another message arrived from unknown number. Eve opened it quickly.

_sry for everything for real im glad ur ok be careful ok? ___

And then one more: 

_We gotta wipe your phone, sorry_

__Before she could react, her phone went dark. She mashed all the buttons she could, to no avail. Either it had run out of battery instantaneously, or Elena and Kenny had just bricked her phone with black voodoo tech magic. That was HOURS of Happy Kitten Fun Times House she was never getting back._ _

__She tossed her now useless paperweight onto the bedside table and flopped onto her bed._ _

__She had so many questions. Who was watching who, and what were they looking for, but most importantly, why?_ _

__Speculating was futile, though. Eve closed her eyes and went to sleep._ _

__===_ _

__It was another full week before Eve began to feel remotely like herself again. Bored of hospital food and staticky TV and nothing to do, she jumped at the chance to be discharged. If she was going to lie around all day, she might as well do it at home._ _

__Thankfully the bag of clothing and personal effects had contained a small amount of cash, just enough for a taxi ride back to her place. Hobbling up the steps, she unlocked the door to hear the tinny sound of the TV filtering in from the living room._ _

__Jerkily, she turned the corner to see Villanelle strewn across her couch, a mostly-empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table._ _

__"Hey, they let you out! Sorry I didn't come pick you up, there's a Golden Girls marathon on." Villanelle's eyes were glued to the screen. "Ah, I know what you're thinking. 'Nice haircut!' Right?" She ran her fingers through her now short and messy hair, which looked like someone had hacked it off with a knife just above her neck. "Felt like time for a change."_ _

__"This was you, then?" Eve shook her bag of personal items. "My friend?"_ _

__Villanelle looked up. "Oh, yes. Sorry I haven't been to visit since, I'm kind of in hiding right now. I needed a change AND a disguise."_ _

__Eve was vacant. Completely empty. There was no juice left in her mental reserves to react._ _

__She shuffled to the couch. "Shove over."_ _

__Villanelle didn't budge._ _

__Eve started to sink down to the couch anyway, preparing to squash Villanelle's legs mercilessly. The other woman scrambled hastily out of the way before Eve made contact, ending up collapsed on the ground in a heap._ _

__That was at least a little bit curious, but Eve was too tired to care. She flopped down face first on the couch and released a muffled groan._ _

__Villanelle pulled herself up into a cross-legged position on the ground. "How many painkillers are you on?"_ _

__"Mmnn nffffggh."_ _

__"Uh."_ _

__Eve wriggled to her side with effort. "Not enough."_ _

__"Yeah, getting stabbed really hurts, doesn't it," Villanelle said sympathetically. It was hard to tell her expression since her face was sideways, but it was safe to assume she was being a dick, as usual._ _

__"So?"_ _

__"So... what?"_ _

__"You. Here. Explain."_ _

__Villanelle pressed her lips together in a tight grin. "We-e-ell, as I said, I'm in hiding."_ _

__Eve remembered the texts that had bricked her phone. "From who? The police?"_ _

__"My landlord. He wasn't very pleased at what happened to the flat. My deposit did NOT cover the damage, whew."_ _

__"In hiding. Right across the street from your old place. At mine," Eve said slowly._ _

__"Well, he hasn't found me yet, has he?"_ _

__"Villanelle. Why here?"_ _

__Villanelle shrugged. "It was close. You weren't using it. Also, I haven't been able to go to work lately, so I'm running low on cash. Rent is so damn high, you know."_ _

__"Because you might run into your landlord?"_ _

__"Actually, I think someone has lost patience with me," Villanelle frowned. "I may need to lay low from the authorities for a while."_ _

__"So you can't show your face in public." Eve just buried her face into the couch and groaned. "So there is currently no end date to your planned squatting."_ _

__"It would be nice if I could hang out here."_ _

__"Do I even have a choice in this?"_ _

__The sound of the TV blinked off. "I'll leave if you tell me to."_ _

__"Really?" Eve tilted her head so that she could see Villanelle again. "You mean that?"_ _

__Villanelle nodded. She was squeezing and unsqueezing the TV remote in her hands. Her expression was still hard to read in this position._ _

__"Help me up."_ _

__"It's okay, you should rest if it hurts -"_ _

__"I want to talk to you and I can't - I can't see your face properly."_ _

__Villanelle put the remote down and moved towards her. She tilted her head sideways and laid her cheek on the edge of couch just in front of Eve's, so that the two of them were face-to-face. "Can you see me better now?"_ _

__Eve licked her lips. Her heart rate was spiking, she was getting warm -_ _

__"Okaaaaaay, this is, this is a little close now, can you, uh, help me up -"_ _

__With a look that might have been reluctance, Villanelle helped Eve into an upright position on the couch before she sat back on her knees, looking up at Eve expectantly. Somewhere deep inside Eve, a tiny tendril of pleasure stirred at the sight, and she wasn't sure why. Still, this didn't seem quite right yet, not for the conversation she wanted to have._ _

__"Come up here. On the couch. With me." Eve tilted her head to the empty spot beside her._ _

__Villanelle obeyed. On the couch, bodies tilted toward each other, they were practically at eye level; Villanelle's height must have all been in her legs. It was a pleasant thought. Eve tried to put a lid on it._ _

__"Tell me what's you think is going to happen from now on."_ _

__Villanelle cocked her head. "You let me stay, I make you some food, we watch season 2."_ _

__"And after that?"_ _

__"Season 3."_ _

__Eve rolled her eyes. "Let's jump a little further ahead. Like tomorrow. And the day after. And the week after that."_ _

__Villanelle's smile was rueful. "I'm not very good at planning ahead."_ _

__Well, that explained a lot, Eve thought._ _

__"Do you want me to stay, Eve?"_ _

__Eve didn't respond._ _

__"Are you worried about the Twelve? My employers? Your employers?"_ _

__Eve buried her face in her hands. "I don't know enough to know whether I should worry about them or not. Yes, of course I'm worried about them, but I'm more worried about -" She ran her hands through her hair, bunching it behind her head. "Let's say, miraculously, you feel like you can start killing people again. I'm in the kitchen, I don't know, carving a turkey, and suddenly you decide to test out whether or not your ability to kill has returned."_ _

__"Oh, don't worry about that," Villanelle waved her hand reassuringly. "I'm good now, I think you cured me. Sort of."_ _

__"I did what now?"_ _

__"I walked into a guy this morning, holding a knife in my side pocket," Villanelle explained, miming. "I think part of my problem was that I was trying too hard, maybe? I mean, don't get me wrong, I still would have lingering performance issues, but if I just pretend to bump into someone, when they get too close, have the knife angled just so -" she demonstrated, to Eve's rising horror, "then the end effect is the same! Brilliant, huh?"_ _

__"Pass me that cushion," Eve said in a strangled voice. "Please."_ _

__"This one?"_ _

__"Yes. Thank you." Eve took it in one hand, hefted it, and proceeded to beat Villanelle with it, methodologically. "Don't! Tell! Me! Shit! Like! This!" It was possible to beat someone to death with a pillow, right? Eventually? "I! Don't! Want! To! Hear! This! Bullshit!"_ _

__Villanelle defended herself half-heartedly. "Eve, watch out, your stitches are going to - okay, okay, I was joking, alright?"_ _

__Eve paused, mid-strike, glaring at Villanelle's face. "No, you're not," she shouted. She resumed hitting Villanelle with the cushion. "You're not joking, you asshole!"_ _

__"Okay, fine, I'm not!" Villanelle admitted. "I called him an ambulance, though! He'll be fine."_ _

__"You can't - just - keep - stabbing people - and calling - ambulances - for - them!" Eve whacked Villanelle one more time, then sagged sideways into the back of the couch in exhaustion._ _

__"Okay, okay," Villanelle raised her hands in acquiescence. "If I agree not to stab any more people, will you let me stay here?"_ _

__Eve sat raised her head. "Wait, as a condition for letting you stay?"_ _

__"Sure, why not? Name your conditions."_ _

__Eve sat fully upright. "No more killing people! Or trying to kill them, either."_ _

__"Hm, Eve. That is a much tougher ask."_ _

__"I'm not even convinced you're capable of it," Eve said plainly._ _

__Villanelle shrugged. "I mean, I enjoy it, but it's not like I have to do it, you know. It's just something I do for fun. I don't have to do it." The dubious expression on Eve's face must have been growing, because Villanelle tried to explain. "It's like, imagine if you had to give up eating meat. You'd miss it, but you'd still survive, right?"_ _

__Eve's expression hardened. "Okay, Villanelle. You've convinced me. I don't think this is going to work."_ _

__"What? What do you mean?" Villanelle was incredulous._ _

__"How could anyone give up meat? God, the hunger. The longing. You wouldn't last," Eve moaned. "You'd cave. You'd cave in a week!"_ _

__"Not for the first time, I think you are projecting your own issues onto me," Villanelle frowned. "Honestly, Eve, it's very doable. I can stop killing if I put my mind to it. If you're not convinced, let's both give up something together as part of the contract. I give up killing, you give up eating meat. Deal?"_ _

__"No," Eve thundered. "No deal."_ _

Villanelle clutched her chest. "You would rather let me out into the world, slaughtering innocents, than give up eating meat? Eve, you are a heartless woman and an animal hater." 

"I love animals," Eve retorted. "Eating them, that is. Tell you what, if you give up killing, I'll give up something else important to me, okay?" 

__"Okay. What is it?"_ _

__Eve's face was grave. "Dick. I promise to give up dick."_ _

__Villanelle jumped off the couch. She looked like she wanted to gag. "That cannot be that difficult of a a task. It cannot be that important to you."_ _

__"Villanelle, dick is VERY important to me," Eve said solemnly. "I was married to dick for years. I've been sucking dick for longer. Ever since I was young, I've -"_ _

__"How dare you," Villanelle roared. "How dare you talk to me about - about penises?!"_ _

__"I'm just saying, it's been a very important part of my identity, so it's not nothing. If you give up killing, though, I promise to give up dick forever. Cross my heart."_ _

__"THIS IS NOT AN EQUAL TRADE," Villanelle yelled, stomping into the kitchen. She came back out holding a knife, then, as if thinking better of it, returned to the kitchen. She re-emerged knife-less. "Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. You give up dick, FOREVER, and no meat except on weekends. Okay?"_ _

__"Villanelle -"_ _

__"You are, from now on, a PART-TIME VEGETARIAN, OKAY?!"_ _

__"Okaaaaay." Eve grumbled, outwardly. Inside, though, she was amazed that they were even still having this conversation. She was riding a rush of giddiness, soaring high. This was going to hurt so badly when it all fell apart._ _

__Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it could always be like this._ _

__Villanelle dropped back onto the couch in a huff. "I think I liked it more when you were scared of me."_ _

__"I think I like it more like this," Eve said easily._ _

__Villanelle hugged her knees to her chest. "Yeah. I do too."_ _

__"No loud music after 10pm."_ _

__"What's this? More conditions?"_ _

__"Rules for living here!" Eve snapped. "We split the chores 50/50. We take turns with cooking and laundry and dishes. You know, it's about time you helped with some of the cooking and the clean up afterwards."_ _

__"Seriously? You know how much I'm giving up already, right?"_ _

__"Would you like me to remind you what I'm giving up in return?" Eve exclaimed._ _

__Villanelle snapped her mouth shut._ _

__"How much can you contribute rent-wise?"_ _

__"Uh, none. Have I not mentioned that I have not been working?"_ _

__"Because you're too afraid to go outside? God, we really have to move to a different neighbourhood."_ _

__"It doesn't get any cheaper than here," Villanelle pointed out._ _

__"Because you've been single-handedly driving property prices down with your crime spree."_ _

__"I like it here," Villanelle said. "I feel at home."_ _

__"Really?" Eve looked at Villanelle thoughtfully. "I still don't understand why you like Birmingham so much."_ _

__Villanelle shrugged. "I told you. Curry, museums, you."_ _

__She was so, so, close. Eve reached out and ran her hand through Villanelle's hair._ _

__"I can't believe you chopped it all off."_ _

__Villanelle shrugged. "It'll grow back."_ _

__"I like it," Eve said softly. Her hand curled around Villanelle's neck, tugging her closer._ _

__Villanelle took Eve's hand, brought it to her mouth, kissed it. Then she returned it to Eve's lap. "I've read somewhere that it's not a good idea for roommates to get romantically involved. Things get complicated."_ _

__It felt like a rejection._ _

__"This isn't a rejection." Villanelle's eyes were sincere. "I just need a bit more time."_ _

__Eve cleared the lump in her throat. "You'll let me know when, then?"_ _

__"Yeah," Villanelle said quietly. "I'll let you know when." She sat up, her expression clearing. "Can you eat properly yet, by the way?"_ _

__"Uh yeah, I think so?" Eve said, befuddled. "I started eating solids the last couple of days."_ _

__"Good, I'll make us something!" Villanelle hopped off the couch and flipped the TV back on._ _

The sounds and smells of sizzling came from the kitchen as Eve watched the images on the screen mindlessly.  

Villanelle came out with two plates loaded to the top. 

__"Okay, I see what you did there," Eve said, staring at the small mountain of sausages and meatballs on her plate._ _

__"I had to cook all of it today, so leave the rest if you can't finish it," Villanelle said cheerily, plopping down next to her with her own plate and fork._ _

__"I can't actually eat all this," Eve complained._ _

__"Too bad! It's the last of that sort of thing you'll be having for a while."_ _

__Eve speared a sausage and pretended to give it a blowjob._ _

__"If I didn't know better, I'd think you wanted me to kill you, Eve."_ _

__"Look, if you can't handle this, it's best that I find out sooner rather than later."_ _

__Villanelle chomped down hard on a meatball in response._ _

__"Hey," Eve said softly._ _

__"Yeah?" Villanelle grumbled._ _

__"I'm glad you're here."_ _

__"Yeah?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__Villanelle's smile was real._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE FINALLY IT'S DONE. Sort of. Thanks for following along. If you'll indulge me for a moment: 
> 
> What originally was conceived as an attempt to explore a post-series Eve and Villanelle somehow ballooned into this. The original beats - Villanelle trying (and failing) to kill Eve, Villanelle and Eve entering an extended sexual and uncertain relationship, Eve confronting Villanelle in Villanelle's apartment, and finally Villanelle somehow moving in with Eve - were always there. In the process of trying to flesh out and fill in the betweens, Eve got more assertive both with Villanelle and in trying to "solve" what was happening, and became less at Villanelle's mercy. There was also a lot more explicit statement of Eve's inner thought processes. There was a lot more eating and cooking, too, but Villanelle likes eating, so, canon?
> 
> Villanelle conversely remained mostly the same - somewhat broken and adrift after the attack on her in Paris, uncertain of the significance that Eve holds for her, and as she tried to figure it out, alternating between a terrifying figure who wants to wield and maintain control, and a socially-inept dork whose favourite music is apparently national anthems. I don't know if I succeeded in bringing her out through Eve's filtered view, which could change depending on what Eve was going through mentally at the time. But I do want to explore what life actually looks like for them if they live together, and I think I've left enough question marks regarding Villanelle, and the intentions of both their former respective employers, to be answered in another story. So, TBD?
> 
> I hope people have enjoyed the story, and that it either fits in with your interpretations of the characters from the show, or that I've created something that you would buy. I did try to do at least a bit of research to ensure there was at least one thing backing up any questionable choice I made (from the possible size of a GPS tracker, to whether or not psychopaths are capable of remorse - they are, in specific cases, apparently!) but if there's anything I missed that took you out of the story, apologies. One of the hardest parts was trying to remember to say "flat" instead of apartment every time, lemme tell you. 
> 
> I do not apologise for any attempt at humour, BECAUSE THAT'S HOW MY BRAIN WORKS, unless you were offended by something relating to identity politics - in which case I do take that very seriously, so please reach out if you feel like we need to have a conversation. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading, it's been a blast, and I really appreciate you taking the time on this.


End file.
